The Story of Max Cale
by pari106
Summary: AU; MZ; What if Max had grown up knowing Logan as her brother, instead of Zack?
1. Default Chapter

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
  
Code: M/Z; AU (some M/L, implied. Logan/Syl? Damn, I don't know where I got that from, but now I   
can't get rid of it.)  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
A/N: This is an AU story I've been thinking about for a while. Recently I read "Through the Looking Glass", which is about the Dark Angel characters in reversed roles (another idea I'd been contemplating). Well, the author of that story inspired me to get back to work on those ideas, so here you go.   
  
Summary: What if Max had grown up knowing Logan as her brother instead of Zack?  
  
A/A/N: Oh, and I know I have a lot of projects up in the air right now...why can't I ever just finish one, right? Well, I'm working on it. But in the meantime, when something comes to me, I just have to get it out! I promise you, "the Gift of Darkness" and "An Emergency Change of Command" will be completed! Someday. Until then, hope you like this. This, too, is still in progress. So please review!  
  
  
  
  
  
The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
  
  
Early that morning, Logan Cale slipped quietly through the rooms of his high-rise penthouse in Foggle   
Towers. He very gently set his bags next to the door, trying not to make a sound as he pulled on a long,   
black coat and pocketed his set of keys. It was still dark out and Logan turned a lamp on so that he   
wouldn't stumble over his own feet in the dark.  
  
Then he entered the guestroom and stared down at her.  
  
Max.  
  
His sister.  
  
Logan resisted the urge to sigh as he neared her bedside, looking down at the shiny, black strands of her   
hair, fanned out around her on the pillow. He stared at the long lashes that rested against her soft cheek as   
she slept; at her soft, full lips. At the sheets covering her as she lay there on her belly, and the creamy   
white shoulders that peeked out from beneath them.   
  
He was staring at his sister…only he wasn't.  
  
Max wasn't his actual birth sister. But she'd been adopted by the Cale family when she was just a toddler,   
and Logan was 15.  
  
'Fifteen.'  
  
As Logan watched her, a part of him knew that he should probably feel ashamed. Birth sister, or not,   
they'd known each other their entire adult lives. He'd watched her grow up. When their parents had died –   
and Logan Sr. and Evelyn Cale had been every bit the parents to Max – they had had only each other. And   
now they were inseparable. Logan would defend Max with his life, with his very soul if he had to. And,   
apparently – as she had proven by her own actions – Max felt the same way.   
  
And she was so young – only nineteen to Logan's thirty-two. They were more than a decade and a   
lifetime's worth of experiences apart.  
  
But looking at her…Logan didn't feel so much older. He felt like a little boy, staring through a store   
window at the one toy he absolutely couldn't have.  
  
Not that he'd compare the love he had for Max to a child's love for a toy. He would do anything for Max.   
Sacrifice anything. Because he loved her that much.  
  
That was why he was leaving today. For Wyoming.  
  
Finally, Logan did sigh, sitting down on the edge of the bed, being extremely careful not to cause the   
mattress to shift too much. He didn't want to wake her.   
  
She'd had such an awful night – one of the worst in a long time. The seizures had been in remission for   
almost a year now, and suddenly there they were again. Max had just arrived back in Seattle, as she did   
every other two weeks, to visit her big brother. They'd just finished dinner, and suddenly the seizures were   
upon her, just like that. They'd come so fast there hadn't even been time to give Max her triptophan, the   
expensive, almost impossible to obtain, almost dangerously potent drug that kept Max's chemical   
imbalance in check.  
  
The seizures were just another reminder, another sign that his sister wasn't like anyone else Logan knew.   
That she wasn't like him. He'd known this since she was a child, when she had her first seizure and his   
parents had called him home from college in their distress. They'd taken her to an emergency room, but   
their family physician had met them there, and had whisked them back to the family home. He'd been so   
shaken up that night, they couldn't quite tell what was the matter. But he had given Max her first dose of   
triptophan since she'd come to live with them. He'd begged the Cales not to take her to another doctor, had   
been too distraught to even tell them why. He'd explain to them in the morning, he'd said.  
  
And he'd died of a heart attack that night. The Cales never figured out why Dr. Baker had been so   
adamant about Max's not seeing another doctor, but his disturbing behavior, and subsequent death, put the   
fear of God into them. They hadn't taken her to a doctor since. As Max never got sick, other than with the   
seizures, this wasn't a problem.  
  
The only problem had been securing Max's triptophan. It was a narcotic – outlawed in every part of the   
United States, and several other countries around the world. But if it was what his little Maxie needed, than   
that was what Logan Cale Sr. was going to procure. Logan Cale – mild-mannered, law-abiding citizen that   
he was, was going to smuggle triptophan into his home. Logan Jr. had balked at the very idea. The elder   
Logan Cale was an upstanding citizen; he'd never even under-tipped before. There was absolutely no way   
Logan was going to let his father commit such a crime, even to save his own sister's life.  
  
He'd insisted that he be allowed to procure the triptophan himself.  
  
And he'd been doing so ever since.   
  
It had gotten easier – and safer – since he'd started Eyes Only. Now that he had the informant net to help   
him locate the purest shipments, he no longer had to be on a constant search; a constant lookout for new   
sources and better suppliers. He no longer had to rely on the lowest common denominator of society. He'd   
found a reliable supplier and he stocked up now on the precious, life giving drug every several months or   
so.  
  
And if Eyes Only's' connections ever wondered about his extracurricular business affairs…  
  
Logan supposed that the prospect of a better future – the future Logan looked forward to once his activities   
could make a difference and change the sorry ways of their world - made people do things they normally   
wouldn't. Every time he came into contact with the informants they were constantly sending their   
protestations of gratitude and commitment to "the boss". They followed his orders, they followed him.   
Loyally. Bravely. They'd followed him even if they'd suspected his part in the triptophan trade to be   
everything it seemed and worse. They followed because they wanted the future that he promised. And   
because they figured following the orders of a potential triptophan addict was a small price to pay for the   
salvation of the world.  
  
And Logan let them believe whatever they wanted to believe. Because having everyone else suspect him   
of being a drug addict was a small price to pay for keeping Max safe.  
  
But to keep her safe now, he needed more than just triptophan. He needed answers. Answers to the   
questions he was travelling to Wyoming to ask.  
  
Because the seizures weren't the only way in which Max was different.  
  
Everything about here was just a little bit…more. She was faster, stronger. Unbelievably stronger. She   
could see in the dark and she had a didactic memory. If she cut herself, the wound would heal in moments.   
And only after years of training herself to do so, after years of pretending and practicing in order to fit in at   
sleepovers, and to keep from worrying her parents, did Max actually sleep at night. If she needed to, she   
could go days without resting. And even then, she'd only need three hours, tops.   
  
She was different.  
  
She'd always been different. But Logan's parents had tried so hard to get her to supress those differences.   
Not because they didn't want her to be different, not because they loved her any less for her differences.   
But because of Dr. Baker. Because of their fear that whatever had caused the doctor's anxiety over Max's   
seizures, applied to everything else different about her, as well. They were afraid of what might happen to   
her is someone else found out about her spectacular gifts; about who might come looking for her.  
  
But they couldn't hide all of Max's differences. Not completely. They were bound to come out, and when   
they did…  
  
Logan sighed again, his hand forming into a fist where it lay on the bed.  
  
When he'd first started Eyes Only, he'd known it would only be a matter of time before Max became aware   
of his activities. She knew him too well for him to be able to keep anything from her. And once she found   
out, Logan knew she'd want to be involved. But Logan absolutely refused that. How could he let his baby   
sister put herself at risk like that? he'd asked her, feeling like a heel for playing the big brother card when   
he knew damned well that wasn't how he felt about her. Max had insisted that if he could put his ass on the   
line, day after day, then so could she.  
  
Logan disagreed.  
  
He'd kept on disagreeing. But that hadn't kept Max from trying to weasel her way into the organization.  
  
It had started out with little things – some meetings here, some reconnaissance there. But, little by little,   
Max began to increase her contributions to Eyes Only.   
  
And, mostly, she was just trying to help, Logan knew. She was trying to protect him. She was also trying   
to do her part to help people, just like he was. But she was also trying to do something for herself.  
  
She had this great part of herself that never got to see the light of day because of their parents' fears. She'd   
never been able to test her abilities, to really use them for a purpose. Working for Eyes Only gave her the   
potential opportunity of doing just that.  
  
And how could Logan deny her that?  
  
How could he keep asking her to go on, day after day, denying herself?  
  
Eventually Logan had given in and had started including Max in his activities. She thought it was because   
he'd finally realized that "…I'm a big girl, Logan. I can take care of myself." Logan hadn't thought of   
Max as a little girl in a long time. But the real reason he'd begun to include her is to give her that   
opportunity she was seeking to express herself. To use her abilities the way they were obviously intended   
to be used.  
  
He included her to give her an outlet for her unique differences.  
  
And he included her because he felt guilty.  
  
He felt guilty that he couldn't give her more than just an outlet. He felt guilty because he couldn't give her   
the answers to the questions he was preparing to ask now. All Max's life she'd wondered why she was the   
way she was. Where did she come from? How could she possibly be capable of the things of which she   
was capable? Why did she have to hide herself away all the time? How did Dr. Baker know that she had   
to hide? Logan had wondered about the same things. But he'd never done anything but wonder.  
  
Before Eyes Only, wondering was all they could do. Logan didn't have the resources or the connections to   
find out more about Max's past. She'd been abandoned at an orphanage where a young social worker, who   
had just signed on in the institution, had become her immediate keeper. That social worker had   
recommended Max to the Cales. Logan and Evelyn had fallen in love with the precocious little girl, whose   
big brown eyes seemed to hold far more intelligence than any two year old was meant to possess. And the   
rest was history.  
  
But once Logan became Eyes Only, he began to discover the resources necessary to research Max's past.   
He began to build the connections he needed to help her.  
  
But he hadn't. He'd told himself that he was looking, but just not finding anything, but really he hadn't   
been trying with all of his heart.  
  
Because his heart was with Max. And he had this insane, irrational, selfish fear that if Max had the answers   
to all her questions then she wouldn't need him anymore. She'd know who she was and where she was   
from and what wonderful, extraordinary destiny had been planned for her (for surely there had to be   
something extraordinary awaiting someone so extraordinary herself). He was afraid he'd lose her.  
  
But Max deserved to know herself. She deserved better than Logan, who'd had the power to help her all   
this time, but didn't, out of concern for his own, selfish needs. She needed to know herself.  
  
And Logan had almost lost her anyhow.  
  
Without any other focus in her life, Max had quickly become dissatisfied with her small part in Eyes Only.   
She wanted more responsibility. More action, more risk. And though Logan had fought her, she'd gotten   
it. She'd been there during Logan's mission to help a woman and her child escape a powerful criminal   
named Sonrisa.  
  
She'd been there to take a bullet designed for him.  
  
Ever since Logan had dedicated himself to finding out more about Max's past. He was still afraid that she   
would leave him in the end, that he would lose her. But he was more afraid of losing her the way he almost   
had – to a shooting, to an accident, to death. He was terrified of that. And, even if she did leave him,   
shouldn't he want that? Not for himself, but for her? Shouldn't he want to give her the extraordinary life   
she deserved? If he loved her enough to sacrifice his life, shouldn't he love her enough to sacrifice his   
chance at happiness?  
  
He should. And he did.  
  
He was prepared to sacrifice both.   
  
  
He'd finally had to take Max to a doctor, to deal with the temporary consequences of the shooting. He'd   
gotten Sam Carr – a good man and an expert in his field. Then he'd hired the best physical therapist he   
could find. Max had taken the shot in her spine, and had been temporarily paralyzed from the waist down.   
It had been one of the darkest times of Max's life, and it had nearly destroyed Logan to see her that way, to   
know that she was hurting, that she was helpless, because of him. It had nearly driven him mad.  
  
But the paralysis *had* been temporary, after all. And Max's therapist, Bling, had become a quick addition   
to their little family. He was a friend and an advisor and, after he'd learned about Eyes Only, he'd become   
Logan's most trusted partner, as well.   
  
And after Max had gotten back on her feet, literally, Logan had begun his research into her past. He didn't   
have anything definite yet, but what he did have was shocking. He'd found information on a pre-Pulse   
government program carried out by an institution called Manticore. The dates and the talk of genetic   
engineering tied in perfectly with Max's age and abilities. And he'd found connections between the   
orphanage where Max had been abandoned and a former government officer named Donald Lydecker.  
  
Now Logan was going to Wyoming to look up this Donald Lydecker, and to see if the man could answer   
his and Max's questions.  
  
And Max had no idea about any of it. She didn't know that he'd been looking, or what he'd found. She   
didn't know about the super soldier that was on his tail.   
  
He probably should have told her about that – if for no other reason than to let her know to watch her back.   
But he had Bling on the defensive, and a whole team just waiting for the call, should Max need help. And   
he planned to tell her everything. After he'd been to Wyoming and he could confirm his theories.  
  
Until then, she would be under the impression that the person who he'd caught trying to break into his   
penthouse, nearly a month ago, was nothing more than your average cat burglar. That's what Logan had   
thought, after all, when he'd seen the intruder the first time. But then he saw her again and he began to   
think differently.  
  
Actually, it was seeing her that had sparked his renewed guilt over not pursuing Max's past. Because   
before then, Logan hadn't had any real reason to believe he'd find anything.  
  
His mysterious cat burglar had proven otherwise.  
  
Because the only person he'd ever seen with the type of abilities that Max exhibited was that woman. And   
she'd had a barcode on the back of her neck, just like the soldiers of Manticore were rumored to possess.   
  
Suddenly, Logan felt the bed shift beneath him, bringing him out of his reverie. He looked down at Max,   
surprised to see her eyes open.  
  
Max blinked, clearing away the last remnants of sleep. "Hey," she finally said, her voice thick.  
  
Logan smiled at her. "Hey, sleepyhead," he told her. "Gonna rise and shine this early?"  
  
Max looked past his shoulder, to the open drapes and the windows in the livingroom. The night's stars   
were stills shining bright on the other side of the panes. Max grumbled and wrinkled her nose.  
  
"Not on your life," she mumbled, burrowing back into her covers.  
  
Logan laughed, but the sound faded away as he remembered he was sitting here in bed with Max. A very   
unclothed Max.  
  
"Uh…good. Get some rest." Logan awkwardly shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat. "And take it   
easy for awhile, okay?" he told her, sincerely. "I told Bling to make sure you do."  
  
'…Bling…'  
  
That woke Max up. She opened one eye and looked up at him again. Then opened both, and sat up,   
bringing the covers up with her as she did.  
  
"Bling? Where are you going?" Max asked.  
  
"Out," Logan replied. 'Smile. That's right. Act natural…' "I'll be gone a few days. Just some checking   
up on that DeLandis case," Logan lied. "Pretty routine stuff, remember."  
  
'Please, don't give me a hard time about this, Max. Please, please, please…'  
  
"Do you have to?" she asked, and Logan inwardly cringed. 'Here it comes…' Logan opened his mouth to   
speak, but Max spoke first.  
  
"Okay," she said with a smile, causing Logan's jaw to drop. "When will you be back?"  
  
Logan blinked.  
  
"Uh…I told you a few days. Maybe more. I'd stay if I could, but I…"  
  
"That's okay," Max was still smiling. "Be careful, alright?"  
  
That was it. Maybe Logan *had* been hitting the triptophan, but he just couldn't remember it.  
  
"Always," he replied, slowly. Then he just couldn't help it any longer. "Are you feeling okay?" he asked.  
  
Max told him, looking as innocent as an angel: "Yeah, fine. Why?"  
  
"I don't know. You just…" Finally, Logan allowed himself to relax. 'You're getting paranoid, Logan,' he   
told himself. For once he was running off to do something dangerous, and Max wasn't insisting on putting   
herself in danger, too? Why was he complaining?  
  
Logan smiled, then shrugged.  
  
"Letting me off a little easy, aren't you? No demands to know more? Where I'm going; why I'm going?   
No threats to my bodily health if I don't take you with me?"  
  
Max scowled, but her frown eventually shuddered into a reluctant smile, as she reached over and punched   
him in the arm.  
  
"Ow!" Logan told her, laughing even as he rubbed at the sore spot that had developed where her fist had   
landed.  
  
Max settled back into bed.  
  
"I'm not that bad," she muttered, still smiling as she knew it was a lie.  
  
"You? Oh, no. 'Course not."  
  
The look in Max's eyes threatened retaliation, so Logan began to back away towards the door. Sobering, as   
he remembered why he was leaving in the first place.  
  
Meanwhile, Max shrugged.  
  
"Look, you say you're just checking up, then I believe you," she explained. "Besides…I'm just a little   
tired. you know, with the seizure and all."  
  
Max winced, hating herself for playing that card. But it was the only one at her disposal. Logan wasn't   
buying her easy-going routine, and she could tell.  
  
Guilt immediately jumped to her brother's eyes, and Max winced again. The last thing she wanted was to   
make Logan feel bad.  
  
"Yeah," he said, coming back into the room. Max could sense his thoughts even before he voiced them   
aloud. "Are you sure you're okay? If not, I can postpone…"  
  
"No!" Max insisted, quickly backtracking afterwards to appear more casual. "You go, Logan. I'm fine.   
I'm just gonna hang out here a while and veg out. Bling'll be around. Stop stressing already."  
  
Logan sighed. He didn't want to leave her if Max really was sick. But he'd lied when he'd said he could   
postpone. This trip, out of any, could absolutely not be procrastinated about.  
  
"Alright…Well. Goodbye, then," he finally told her.  
  
Max smiled up at her brother, the façade falling away as true concern and affection lit her features.  
  
"Bye. Be careful," she told him, sincerely.  
  
Logan just nodded and turned to leave.  
  
"Oh, and Logan?" Max called after him.  
  
Logan looked back over his shoulder. "Mmhmm?"  
  
"Thanks."  
  
That stopped him where he stood.  
  
"For what?" he asked.  
  
Max shrugged. "For always looking out for me. I appreciate it, I really do. I love you, big brother," she   
told him.  
  
And she was busy rearranging her covers so she didn't see the look that passed Logan's face when he said   
that, but she caught his quiet response.  
  
"Yeah. I know," is all he said. Then he was gone.  
  
Max rolled her eyes and sighed.  
  
Men. Her brother wrote poetry and risked his ass every day for widows and little children and the helpless   
and homeless, blah blah, woof woof…but he couldn't tell his own sister 'I love you' without squirming.   
She really felt for the future Mrs. Logan Cale, whoever she was. Because if Logan had those sort of issues   
with her, how the hell would he handle his emotions for someone he'd fallen in love with?  
  
Max just shook her head and left that question remain unanswered. She had other concerns than her   
brother's lovelife. Or lack thereof.  
  
She was back in bed, but she wasn't going back to sleep, she knew that. Instead, she just stared up at the   
ceiling, thinking. Planning.  
  
She hated lying to her brother. Letting him think she was oblivious to what was going on around them.   
That she was sick, and that's why she let him go without a fuss. That that was why she didn't want to go   
with. But if Logan knew what she was really planning, he never would have left. He never would have let   
her help.  
  
And he needed help, whether he was willing to admit it to her or not.  
  
Max planned to help him.   
  
After all, he was always looking out for her, wasn't he?  
  
"Well, I'm looking out, too, big brother," she whispered, thinking of Logan. "I'm looking out for you."  
  
'Whether you like or not,' she silently added.  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Code: M/Z; Disclaimer: Dark Angel ain't mine, and I'm not making any money off it. (If Zack was mine,   
do you really think I'd share? ;)  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
  
  
  
  
part 2  
by pari106  
  
Meanwhile, Manticore refugee, X5 designate 599, a.k.a. "Zack", had just arrived on a bus into Seattle.  
  
He stepped off, running a hand through his short, blonde hair, and pulling the strap of his duffel bag higher   
up his shoulder. As was his habit, he took a good look around at his surroundings before he headed in any   
one direction, walking quickly for the terminal exit.  
  
Zack had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like coming back to Washington this soon   
after the last time. He didn't like playing the Commanding Officer card with Syl. But his sister wasn't   
accepting his warnings to leave town; his suggestions made out of brotherly love. So he'd stopped   
suggesting and he'd ordered her to leave.  
  
She'd told him to fuck off. And he hadn't heard from her since.  
  
Zack sighed.  
  
Oh, if only he'd been engineered as an only child.  
  
Zack loved his sister, he really did. He understood her wanting a life. A nice, normal life settled into once   
place. Didn't she realize that he wanted the same things? But it just wasn't worth the risk.  
  
Renfro did sweeps of ever sector in every state in the U.S. She was constantly just one step behind Zack.   
He dedicated his life to keeping himself and his brothers and sisters, the other X5s, safe from capture and   
reindoctrination. Renfro dedicated hers to spoiling his efforts. And the only way to beat her was to avoid   
her. So Zack had kept his fellow X5s constantly on the run. they couldn't stay in any one place for any   
length of time.  
  
Syl had been in Seattle now for a year.  
  
And why? For some shitty messenger job, working for that ass, Normal. For a crappy apartment in the   
slum. For her friends, who – Zack would admit – seemed cool enough. But they weren't worth losing Sy's   
soul. Nothing was worth that.  
  
And that's what would happen if Renfro took her back to Manticore. Her very essence, everything that   
made Syl Syl would disappear behind Renfro's torture tactics and militant dogma. Nothing was worth   
letting that happen. Life wasn't 'orth letting that happen. Zack would gladly die before he'd 'e taken back   
there.  
  
And Syl was risking all that for this? For a Jam Pony paycheck and a lesbian? For Seattle's biggest screw   
up and a would-be philosopher with a Jamaiican accent?  
  
Uh-uh. Not on Zack's watch, she wasn't.  
  
Zack was here to make sure Syl knew that. And to get her the hell out of Dodge while he still could.  
  
The only problem, then, would be finding her.  
  
Syl was most likely expecting this, so she probably wouldn't be home. And she no doubt asked her friends   
to cover for her if Zack went looking for her at work. But that was okay. Because Zack wouldn't be   
looking for her in either place. He knew just where he could find her – and he knew that Syl had no idea   
what he knew.  
  
She'd be spying on his place. On that guy – Mr. Money Bags, himself, in the tailored suits. Syl didn't   
know that Zack knew about him, but the last time he'd been in town, he'd seen her sneak over to his place.   
They'd argued, again, about her leaving, and she must have thought Zack had left then, but he hadn't. He'd   
stayed and followed her over to Foggle Towers.  
  
Then he followed her the next night.  
  
And the next.  
  
She never went in, nor did she even get near enough to be seen, from what Zack could tell. But she went   
over there, just the same, and sat on an adjacent rooftop, watching the rich guy in the penthouse at Foggle   
Towers.  
  
Zack remembered she'd mentioned something about swiping some statue from a guy there. Some cat   
statue, ugly as hell.  
  
But a statue just like that had been in the penthouse of the guy Syl was now obviously fascinated by.  
  
So what the hell?  
  
Zack didn't know what was going on with his sister. But he intended to find out.  
  
And, this time, when he asked her to leave with him…he wouldn't take no for an answer.   



	3. Chapter 3

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Code: M/Z; Disclaimer: See last chapter; Rating: PG-13  
  
  
  
part 3  
by pari106  
  
The sun was starting to set. It was shining now behind the long stretch of skyrise buildings framing the   
Seattle skyline, setting the city on fire with color in its descent.  
  
And Max was sitting inside of Logan's penthouse, watching it disappear into the night.  
  
She didn't sit too close to the window – she didn't want to be seen until it was time. Her pack sat at her   
side, and she had a dark set of clothes, a pair of boots, and a black ski mask waiting in the guestroom.  
  
She wanted everything to go off tonight without a hitch.  
  
She wanted to catch Logan's spy.  
  
He probably thought she hadn't even noticed, being gone as often as she had been lately, and being   
preoccupied, as she had been, with her recovery after the shootout. But she'd noticed, alright.  
  
She'd seen the lone figure, dressed all in black, hiding in the shadows on the roof across from Logan's.   
She hadn't known who it was, or what they were doing, but she could bet she didn't like it if she did.   
Considering Logan's line of work, that lone figure could have been a sniper.  
  
But when Max mentioned it to her brother, he deemed having seen the same thing. He'd lied. Because   
Max knew he'd seen him…or her. It? Whatever. She knew he watched the rooftops, some nights,   
waiting. For what?  
  
Again, Max didn't know. And she'd grown tired of trying to get Logan to fess up. So if he wanted to think   
she was as oblivious as he'd obviously prefer…then let him. But that didn't mean she really was oblivious.   
Nor was she just going to stand back and let someone possibly hurt her brother. Logan was the only family   
she had. She loved him, for all his overprotectiveness and stuborn pigheadedness. She had to try and help   
him.  
  
And this was her opportunity. Max hoped she hadn't seemed too suspicious when she told Logan goodbye   
this morning. Yeah, she usually would demand to know where he was going. Then she'd demand to go   
with. And she was curious about what he was up to.   
  
But not as curious as she was about that spy.  
  
She'd let this little impromptu "business trip" slide. For now.  
  
So she hadn't demanded anything this morning. Hadn't protested. She'd been quite out of character.  
  
Max smiled.  
  
She was such a handful – she'd even admit it. Logan had to have hell with her. But, hey…that was her.  
  
She was just glad she had the seizures to take blame for her strange behavior, even as much as she hated   
those damned things. She couldn't risk asking Logan if she could come along with him. Because, the way   
he'd been acting lately, he might just have said yes. And what did he have to blame for *his* strange   
behavior?  
  
Another mystery Max intended to uncover.  
  
But, first…  
  
max watched the sky until the sun had completely set. She finished her glass of wine, then went to get   
ready.  
  
First, she had other issues to resolve.  
  
  
  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
**Disclaimer and rating located in first chapter.**  
  
  
  
part 4  
by pari106  
  
Zack watched the sky until the sun had completely set. He finished the beer he'd been nursing, and then   
grabbed his leather jacket.  
  
he didn't bother locking up the place as he left. It was just a dive, anyhow; one he'd only rented for the   
night. And he'd brung only himself to Seattle, having lost his last bike in a close call with some of   
Renfro's goons a couple of weeks ago. He hadn't managed to "liberate" another since then. Nor had his   
heart really been in it.  
  
He'd really loved his bike.  
  
But there was this really snotty bike shop owner located in southern Washington. Screwed his customers   
like mad.  
  
Maybe Zack would pay him a little visit before he left the state.  
  
But until then, he needed something different. Something larger. A van, perhaps?  
  
Zack wanted tonight to go off without a hitch. Syl needed to get out of Seattle now, one way or the other.   
She needed help. And Zack planned to help her.  
  
"Whether you like it or not, baby sister," he mumbled to himself.  
  
With any luck he'd have an appropriate mode of transportation within the hour, and his plan could go into   
action. With any luck, he'' have Syl tucked safely away into said mode of transportation within 2 hours.  
  
Zack smiled, tossing the keys to his room onto the clerk's desk as he exited the "lobby".  
  
Screw that. There was no such thing as luck. Successful missions were the product of a well-thought out   
plan and precise execution. And Zack hated using his skills against his own family, but, really…it was for   
Syl's own good. And if anyone could plan precisely and execute flawlessly, it was Zack.  
  
Zack turned the corner and headed for Sector 9.  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
**Disclaimer and rating found in chapter one.**  
  
  
  
part 5  
by pari106  
  
After the first hour, Max began to feel silly. She looked silly, she imagined, all decked out in black, with a   
ski mask, skulking around a rooftop. Watching the penthouse where she could be comfortably spending   
her evening.  
  
But no. She had to play vigilante and hunt would be assassins who didn't seem too keen with doing   
assassin-type stuff on Max's timetable.  
  
He/she/it was lurking around all the time. So why couldn't he/she/it lurk now, so Max could give it a good   
beating?  
  
Max just felt silly.  
  
She sighed, and relaxed her guard just a little bit, allowing herself to simply enjoy the view from up here.  
  
She loved rooftops. She loved any type of heights, actually. Which she supposed was an oddity,   
considering her brother's fear of the same things.  
  
As a kid, Max remembered constant treks out into the gardens behind the family estate. She'd climb each   
tree, one right after the other, saving the tallest for last. Sometimes she'd race herself up each one,   
speeding across the gardens in a blur, just to feel her heart pound and her blood rush. Just to see the   
flowers and shrubs and the sidewalks shrink beneath her as she climbed higher and higher.  
  
But those climbing excursions ended soon enough.  
  
The game soon grew old, and Max told herself it lost its appeal because it was silly and unnecessary and   
what did she need to be climbing up dirty, old trees for, anyhow? But, truly, the reason she'd quit was   
because she simply grew tired of hiding her adventures from her parents, whom she'd learned to hide from   
quite well.  
  
Later, as an adult, Max grew to realize that it was concern, not displeasure, that made her parents shelter   
her so much. They kept her away from the world because they were afraid for her, not because they were   
ashamed of her. But, as a child, Max hadn't seen it that way. She'd felt it necessary to save her trips to the   
garden for late in the night, or for whenever the Cales were away on vacation without her. She'd strip out   
of her clothes so they wouldn't pick up any telltale snags or stains. And she never had to worry about   
knicks and scrapes, because they always healed before she got back into the house.  
  
But last minute strips and advanced healing properties aside, Max had known that she couldn't hide her   
activities from her parents forever. And, at the time, she hadn't even considered the possibility that letting   
them find out might have been a good thing. She was terrified they'd find out and that she'd see that sad,   
scared look in their eyes that they always got when she did something "different".  
  
So she stopped climbing trees in the garden. But she'd always remember those late night excursions. She   
still missed them, even though she still told herself they were silly and unnecessary. What had been the big   
deal, anyhow? Dirty, old trees. She could have fallen and hurt herself.  
  
At least, that was what the Cales always used to say, even though they knew it was a lie. She could   
probably fall off this building right now and not get hurt. Not that she'd ever test that theory.  
  
She never tested anything. She never dared. She'd learned not to be daring, either by her parents' spoken   
warnings or simply by the frightened demeanor she always sensed from them. That's why she stopped   
climbing. It's why she learned how to sleep through the night – not just for a few hours, but through the   
night. It's why she learned how sleep like a normal person, and react like a normal person, and ignore the   
fact that she wasn't a normal person…  
  
Because Max never tested anything. Including herself.  
  
She let herself indulge, every now and then, in the little differences about her. Sometimes she'd prick up   
her ears just to see how far away she could be from someone or something and still hear them. Whenever   
she got a chance to go away with friends, in high school, she'd always chosen vacation spots with tall trees   
or nearby mountains. She'd spent endless summers in the family cabin, out in the woods, running and   
climbing and racing herself. But she never climbed too far. She never ran too fast. She never tested.  
  
But she supposed she was testing herself now. She'd been testing herself for some time now, really. Ever   
since she'd made Logan involve her in Eyes Only. Because for all her special abilities, Max had really led   
a very sheltered life. She didn't have any experience with informant nets and midnight rendezvous and   
guns. And surprise attacks on would-be assassins, she reminded herself with a sigh. But she wanted that   
experience. She wanted to experience *something* to the extreme. She wanted to *do* something with   
her gifts besides just let them rot like some dirty secret.   
  
She knew her parents had sheltered her because of concern, not displeasure. And, even if they hadn't,   
they'd passed on years ago. And Logan had never asked her to be anyone other than herself. He'd insisted   
she could find other ways to express her differences than by involving herself in his affairs.  
  
But that wasn't good enough for Max anymore. Because even if the Cales hadn't been ashamed of her,   
Max had grown ashamed of herself. She'd mistook her parents' worries for disapproval. She's mistook   
her school friends' assumptions that she was just like them as the belief that she *should be* just like them.   
And it wasn't good enough just to express herself anymore. Max needed to prove herself. She needed to   
prove her special abilities weren't just an okay thing, that they were helpful. That she could do something   
helpful with them. Like she did with Eyes Only. She needed that. She enjoyed it – fighting side by side   
with her brother, even if it was just over a computer screen or over a telephone line.  
  
She needed to make a difference.  
  
That was why she was up on that rooftop.  
  
But, alas, she had had no experience with the sort of cloak and dagger world she was trying to make a   
difference in.  
  
That's why she didn't realize that she was not alone on that rooftop.  
  
She didn't realize it, until suddenly there was a body pressed close behind her, an arm wrapped around her   
arms, pinning them to her sides, and a hand pressed tightly over her mouth.  
  
Max's eyes grew wide, and she began to struggle.  
  
Then she heard a voice in her ear, could feel her attacker's warm breath against her cheek through her   
mask. It was a male voice, low and firm; just as the body pressed against hers was a man's – hard and fit.  
  
A sliver of adrenaline rushed through Max, making her shudder.  
  
"I hate to have to do this," her attacker said. "But you leave me no choice."  
  
Max struggled anew. But her attacker was unbelievably strong.   
  
With a movement, his arm was suddenly around her neck, choking her. And the next thing Max saw was   
darkness creeping up on her vision as she slowly lost consciousness.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Zack remained there, crouched on the rooftop, keeping Syl in his chokehold until he felt the fight slowly   
die out of her and she fell unconscious.  
  
Then he gently scooped her up in his arms, with a sigh.  
  
He'd meant what he said – he hated to have to do it this way. But she really hadn't left him any choice. If   
he hadn't been sure, before, that settling down had made Syl sloppy, he was sure now. He hadn't even   
tried to sneak up on her, but she'd been totally oblivious to his arrival on the roof. If he had been the   
enemy, she'd be dead by now.  
  
"I'm doing this for you, little sister," he told her, rising.  
  
Then he stopped.  
  
There was something…different. About Syl. Was that…  
  
Lilacs?  
  
Since when did Syl smell like lilacs? Did she change her shampoo, or something? It really was kind of…  
  
Zack suddenly shook his head, snapping himself to with an irritated frown.  
  
What the hell was he doing noticing Syl's shampoo smells, anyhow? What the hell did it matter? She was   
his fucking sister, for crying out loud.  
  
He'd spent way too much time in Seattle, himself.  
  
Then Zack sensed movement out of the corner of his eye.  
  
He looked over at the penthouse Syl had been watching, and saw a tall, muscular, black man enter the main   
room. Zack didn't know who he was, but whoever he was, he was looking for something. He seemed to be   
calling out to someone. Then he went into the other room. Then to another. Then he started to look   
worried.  
  
Zack looked down at the pack on Syl's back, then back to the man in the penthouse.  
  
Yep, he was definitely looking for something. He couldn't find it, and he was not happy.  
  
Zack through Syl over his shoulder and made for the nearest exit off the roof.  
  
"This is where you and I leave," he told her.  
  
He took the fire escape down a handful of floors, then jumped to the pavement.  
  
A few moments later, he was behind the wheel of the van he'd…borrowed. And Syl was resting in the   
back as Zack drove like hell to get out of town.  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
He had no idea that the woman he'd just kidnapped was Max Cale, not his sister, Syl.  
  
Because his sister, Syl, had just left for Wyoming.  



	6. Chapter 6

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Code: M/Z; (rating and disclaimer in first chapter).  
  
  
  
part 6  
by pari106  
  
To Logan, the entire set up was like something out of an old movie. Go   
to the park, sit on a bench, look for the guy reading yesterday's paper.   
Find moose and squirrel.  
  
If this was how Manticore handled all its operations, then Logan's   
family had worried for nothing. Max couldn't possibly been in much   
danger from an organization that foolish.  
  
And if this was just some old movie, then it was a long one. Because   
Logan sat there a full hour and saw nothing. Then he sat there a little   
longer.  
  
Nothing.  
  
He sat there till the goddamned sun began to set. Then he left for his   
car, irritated, cold and hungry.  
  
But as soon as he slid in behind the wheel, someone else slid into the   
seat beside him.  
  
"Excuse me, can I…" Logan's words died on his lips.  
  
Because the someone else was holding a gun in his lap, and it was   
pointed straight at Logan.  
  
The man was older than him, with graying blonde hair and a hard face.   
He was wearing a long, black trench coat. He didn't even look at   
Logan, he just closed his door, and settled comfortably in his seat.   
Handgun unmoving.  
  
"Drive," he said simply.  
  
Logan couldn't very well argue with that. So he closed his door and   
drove.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
"It would help if I knew where I was going," he said, finally, sometime   
later. He didn't sound like a man who was being held hostage,   
essentially, at gunpoint. He sounded calm.  
  
Actually, no, he wasn't calm. He was annoyed.  
  
Deck made a quick assessment of the young man sitting beside him.   
Tall, blonde, unshaven. Rich, obviously, if his casual yet expensive   
clothing were any indication. Good-looking kid, Deck concluded. The   
most dangerous kind of all.  
  
And smart, Deck would wager. Despite the fact that he'd just spent all   
day sitting in a park, staring at other people's newspapers. What? Did   
he really think former colonel Donald Lydecker, one time war hero,   
was just going to announce his whereabouts to some unknown hotshot,   
then sit there like an open target? But at least the guy had had enough   
brains to find him. That said something. Deck had been hiding out in   
Wyoming for about ten years, and even his own people hadn't found   
him. He'd been living practically right under their noses, and they   
hadn't found him. But this kid had.  
  
And he was cool, Deck could give him that, too. The hands gripping   
the steering wheel were steady. The blue eyes watching the road in   
front of them revealed nothing.   
  
And he sounded annoyed.  
  
A man once trained as an army sharpshooter was sitting in his car with   
a gun pointed at his chest, and he was annoyed.  
  
Deck liked the guy already.  
  
"Stop," he suddenly ordered.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"Stop the car," Deck clarified, slowly.  
  
Logan just looked at him. Then he kind of shook his head…and pulled   
the car to the side of the road.  
  
"Of course," he mumbled, "drive…stop…you army types are real   
talkative, aren't you."  
  
Deck took a look around them. Logan had pulled the car into a   
conveniently located rest area, and had stopped behind a cluster of   
trees. Perfect.  
  
Deck put the gun away, noticing that Logan was watching his every   
move, though he was trying to be inconspicuous.   
  
Deck kept his expression carefully neutral.  
  
"You know who I am, son?" he asked.  
  
Logan raised an eyebrow. Deck was still measuring him. 'Cocky,   
huh?' he thought. Good-looking and cocky. It was worse than he'd   
thought.  
  
Logan answered his question with one of his own.   
  
"Let me guess…that 'wait in the park and look for the newspaper' bit   
was some sort of military humor?'  
  
Deck couldn't help but smile.  
  
"I could have been just some mugger off of the street," he reasoned.  
  
Logan shrugged. "I suppose. But not with that issue," he said, meeting   
Deck's cool, assessing gaze with his own, referring to the older man's   
gun.  
  
Deck's estimation of the younger man rose once again. So the kid had   
noticed? Good. He'd purposefully chosen the piece because he knew   
it was the new government standard.  
  
The two men just stared at one another for a moment.  
  
And all this time that Lydecker had been assessing him, Logan had   
been making some assessments of his own. He knew Donald   
Lydecker's type. And he knew the man's reputation. He knew he did   
nothing and said nothing without a reason. He was cunning. And   
dangerous when he wanted to be. Logan couldn't afford to make a   
single slip with this man.  
  
But Lydecker was also the man who'd helped Max escape Manticore.   
If she truly was from Manticore. He had to be. It just all fit together   
too well: Lydecker's going AWOL, the disappearance of a Manticore   
doctor, the appearance of the caseworker who'd found Max. Logan   
had developed a theory about what had happened ten years ago. He   
thought the Manticore doctor *was* the caseworker. She'd stolen Max   
and she'd run away. And Lydecker had helped her. Logan only had to   
prove his theory.  
  
And he wanted to prove it fast. He hated leaving Max at home right   
now. And, as much as he wanted to make the right impression with   
this tough, old colonel, he also didn't want to waste any time in   
Wyoming, when that would-be-cat-burglar of his was still back in   
Washington. With Max.  
  
So Logan was the first one to break the silence between the two men.  
  
"Colonel Lydecker?" he finally asked.  
  
The man just continued to look at him, then he opened his door.  
  
"Let's go for a walk, son," he told him.  
  
So Logan followed him out of the car.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	7. Chapter 7

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer and rating in chapter 1.  
  
  
  
Chapter 7  
  
There were crickets chirping. The moon was shining down.  
  
Max perched on her branch, staring down at the ground below.  
  
She wasn't moving, but somehow the shrubs and flowers were shrinking beneath her as if she were   
climbing…higher and higher…  
  
But the sidewalks didn't shrink.  
  
They stretched out into an endless gray, surrounding her. Suffocating her.  
  
She's terrified.  
  
The gray void is a gaping maw, and she is terrified of being swallowed by it.  
  
She wants to run away, but there is nowhere to run. She's frozen in place. She wants to climb away, but   
she is afraid to try.  
  
She wants to fly, but she doesn't have wings.  
  
And her branch somehow continues to rise on its own. But it isn't rising fast enough.  
  
The grayness beneath her just keeps growing…and growing…sucking her in.  
  
Max's heart begins to pound, and her hands begin to sweat.  
  
The branch is hard and cold beneath her. Smooth and flat…and gray…  
  
Concrete.  
  
Max looks at it, startled, then down at the city street below.  
  
The sound of crickets has turned into the soft lull of traffic, and the moonlight has turned into lamplight.  
  
And Max is so startled, she jolts. And loses her precarious perch on the branch that is no longer a branch.  
  
Without being able to scream, Max begins to fall. She begins to plummet towards the sidewalk below…  
  
And then he catches her.  
  
A man in black, his face hidden, comes up behind her and catches her. She has no idea how. But suddenly,   
she isn't falling anymore.  
  
He wraps his arms around her arms, pinning them to her sides. Then he leans in close, and she can feel the   
heat of his breath against her cheek, even through the fabric of her mask…  
  
Mask?  
  
And he speaks her name…  
  
"Syl?"  
  
Max's eyes popped open as she was suddenly awake.  
  
"Syl?" the voice asked again.  
  
Max blinked. She no longer saw a branch or a sidewalk, a city or a garden. She saw a floor.  
  
A floor that was moving beneath her.  
  
A vehicle, she suddenly realized. She was in a moving vehicle.  
  
Max finally sat up, looking around her. She was in the back of a van, she realized.  
  
The windows were so dark she could barely see out of them, and there was nothing else in the back there   
with her.  
  
But there was someone in the front, driving.  
  
"Hey, Syl, are you gonna sleep all day, or what?"  
  
Max froze.  
  
It was him. The man that had grabbed her.  
  
She stared forward at the back of the driver's seat. All she could see was the back of the driver's head – he   
was blonde. She could see one strong arm, and strong hands gripping the steering wheel. He was wearing a black leather jacket and blue jeans. It was him – she could tell by the voice.  
  
Max swallowed.  
  
"Syl?"  
  
Then he turned to look at her, just briefly.  
  
And Max nearly choked.  
  
He was gorgeous. He really was. He had strong features and the bluest blue eyes…  
  
And he'd kidnapped her.  
  
The truth hit Max in a rush, snapping her out of the reverie into which she'd fallen.  
  
Gorgeous or not, this man had climbed to the roof, had snuck up on her, had knocked her out, and had   
thrown her in the back of this van. Now he was taking her only God knows where. And there was no   
telling what he planned once they were there.  
  
This was Logan's spy. His assassin. Max had intended to help her brother by catching this man, but she'd   
been caught instead.  
  
'Oh, God…'  
  
She felt sick.  
  
"Well?"  
  
He was still talking, and now he was frowning. Max could see the expression on his face through the   
rearview mirror, even though he'd turned back to the road.  
  
"Aren't you going to say something, Syl?"  
  
'Sill.' He kept saying that.  
  
Max gathered her courage and raised her chin.  
  
Well, he had her. But panicking wasn't going to help her any. She had to make him believe that she   
wasn't afraid of him. She had to make herself believe that she wasn't afraid of him. Now.  
  
"I might," she said, attempting calm. "If you call me by my real name."  
  
She didn't know what sort of response she expected from that. But she certainly hadn't expected the   
response she got.   
  
Zack's eyes widened.  
  
And he screeched on the brakes so fast, they both went flying forward into the dashboard.  
  
Max was once again unconscious.  



	8. Chapter 8

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer and rating in chapter 1.  
  
  
  
Chapter 8  
  
The van swerved, just a little, as it came to a halt, veering off the road and onto the shoulder, stirring up   
dust and rocks as it did.  
  
Then it stopped. Everything stopped.  
  
All Zack could hear was his own breathing, and the deeper breathing of the woman now lying at his feet.  
  
He just stared at her.  
  
"Uh…"  
  
For the first time that he could remember, Zack was floored.  
  
That…  
  
That hadn't been Syl's voice.  
  
Zack just sat there, staring.  
  
Then suddenly he was in action.  
  
He jumped out of his seat, and knealt by the woman's side, checking to see if she'd been injured when he'd   
stopped.  
  
"Fuck!"  
  
Fuck…what had he done? He'd grabbed someone else.  
  
*He'd grabbed someone else.* NOT Syl.  
  
And he'd goddamned nearly killed them by brilliantly bringing the van to a screeching halt.  
  
Zack checked the woman's pulse, felt around her neck. Everything seemed okay.  
  
He stared at her masked face, a moment more, having gently eased her onto her back.  
  
A spot on the mask was quickly dampening. Blood, he realized. She'd been cut when she'd hit her head   
on the dash.  
  
Zack hesitated…then slowly peeled the mask away.  
  
Nope, that was definitely not Syl.  
  
He saw tanned skin that should have been pale. Dark curls where there should have been striaght, blond   
hair  
  
A beautiful stranger where there should have been his sister.  
  
"Fu…"  
  
Zack fell back into a sitting position.  
  
The woman had a gash just over her right temple.   
  
Zack looked around, out the car window. He saw a road sign indicating a town coming up in a few miles.   
Towns had motels.  
  
He looked back at his captive.  
  
And sighed.  
  
Well, at least he'd been wrong about Syl losing her skills. She hadn't heard him approach her on the roof   
because she hadn't been there.  
  
Perhaps it was Zack who needed to do some shaping up.  
  
"I knew she didn't use lilac shampoo," he muttered.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
When Max awoke…for the second time…she wasn't lying on the floor in a van.  
  
She was lying on a bed.  
  
Max blinked.  
  
She turned her head and saw a lamp. A menu and a t.v. remote nailed down to the bedside table.  
  
She was in a motel.   
  
Then she turned her head again and found herself looking up into a pair of blue eyes looking down at her.  
  
Max's eyes widened.  
  
But Zack anticipated her reaction before it began.  
  
"Shh," he told her, putting his hands in the air. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you need to lie still. You   
hit your head, remember?"  
  
Max paused, mid-panic, but she didn't relax.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
She began to sit up.  
  
Zack sighed, putting a restraining hand on her shoulder.  
  
"Just lie still, okay? I had to tie you up after you woke the last time."  
  
Max blinked. Then she looked up and flexed her wrists.  
  
She was tied up. Her wrists were tied together and to the bed post with a piece of rope. And tied rather   
secure.  
  
Her heartbeat accelerated further and she resisted the urge to shrink away, but her eyes flew to the door. It   
was closed and locked.  
  
Zack sensed her thoughts and scooted away from her just a bit.  
  
"I told you, I won't hurt you. I just didn't want you hurting yourself."  
  
The way the woman had fought, in her sleep… Damn, but she was strong.  
  
If Zack didn't know any better…  
  
Max was more awake now, and she looked around a bit more. Sure enough, the lamp on the other bedside   
table lay in shambles, and the table itself was tilted against the wall. She looked back at her captor and   
noticed that one side of his face looked a little redder than the other.  
  
Max didn't know from where, but somehow she found the courage to raise a brow. Her next comment   
escaped her lips before she could consider the wisdom of such a statement.  
  
"Don't you mean you didn't want me hurting *yourself*?" she quipped.  
  
That was decidedly not wise. Max cringed.  
  
But, to her surprise, her captor looked amused.  
  
He even smiled.  
  
And Max swallowed, horrified as she realized the surge of adrenaline that had just coursed through her,   
anew, had less to do with fear than it did with something else.  
  
"I think I'm safe now," he told her, motioning to her bound wrists.  
  
He supposed he should be more hospitable…since he was the one who'd kidnapped her, after all.  
  
But with some thought, he realized that kidnapping her might not have been such a mistake after all.  
  
What had she been doing on the rooftop Syl was always sneaking over to? And what was with the clothes?   
It defied the odds that two completely different women would want to hang out, in the middle of the night,   
on the same rooftop, wearing the same sort of clothes, at different times. What? Did that rich guy have   
some sort of late night fan club going on?  
  
Whatever the answers, Zack had to ask this girl some questions. He still had to find Syl. And she might be   
able to help him. And if she could, then Zack didn't want to take any chances of letting her refuse his   
request for assistance.  
  
Meanwhile, Max just stared at him.  
  
"What do you want?" she asked him, finally.  
  
"I want to know what you were doing on that roof."  
  
Max blinked. Again, she didn't know what she'd been expecting. Assassins don't just come out and   
announce their intentions, do they? 'I want to kill you and your brother.' 'I want to rape you and leave you   
for dead.' It just isn't appropriate. But she'd been expecting something in that area. Or at least for him to   
try and sidestep the question altogether.  
  
But there he was, asking what she was doing on the roof.  
  
What did he think she was doing on the roof? Enjoying the view?  
  
Well, she was…but that was besides the point.  
  
He had to be messing with her.  
  
"You know what I was doing on the roof," she told him defiantly.  
  
Now it was Zack who was faced with the unexpected.  
  
He frowned.  
  
"How should I know what you were doing on the roof?" he asked.  
  
Max just looked at him. Now what?  
  
Zack waited.  
  
And waited.  
  
Then he straightened, crossing his arms.  
  
"You're not going to tell me, are you?"  
  
He'd seen that look on her face one time too many on his sisters' faces to miss the meaning behind it.   
Come hell or high water, she wasn't going to talk.  
  
Yet.  
  
He'd learned, over the years, that when faced with the cheery prospect of his indefinite company, his sisters   
became a lot more cooperative. Why shouldn't that strategy work with another woman?  
  
Meanwhile, Max blinked.  
  
He didn't really need to hear her tell him she was waiting for him, did he?  
  
"I don't have anything to tell," she said.  
  
Zack sighed, standing up.  
  
"Fine," he told her. "Don't talk."  
  
He reached into his pocket…  
  
"Really. I don't have…"  
  
…and pulled out a switchblade, snapping it open.  
  
Max's words died in her throat.  
  
'Oh, God…' He *was* going to killer her.  
  
Max froze in terror, but as her kidnapper approached, she realized he didn't seem to be reaching for her.   
He was reaching past her…to the wall?  
  
The bedpost. Was he going to cut her free?  
  
Surely, he wasn't just letting her go. He was going to kill her.  
  
Hope and fear warred within Max.  
  
But when all was said and done, neither were confirmed.  
  
Zack reached past her, to the wall, and fished behind the bedpost for a moment until he'd found the phone   
cord jack. He pulled it out, and sliced the wire, then stuffed the exposed circuitry in the drawer of the   
bedside table where the phone was kept.  
  
It happened fast, and Max had no idea what he was doing.  
  
She looked from him…to the drawer…and back.  
  
"Wha…"  
  
"Just in case," he told her. "I don't want you to do anything stupid. I'm going to go get us something to   
eat."  
  
Max stared at him. Something to eat?  
  
"You're not going to kill me?"  
  
'Oh, that was lame.'  
  
The words were out of Max's mouth before she could stop them and she cringed again. But, yet again,   
Zack smiled.  
  
"I told you I wasn't going to hurt you."  
  
"Yeah, killing me would probably hurt," Max mumbled. She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until she   
saw the man shrug.  
  
"Not necessarily."  
  
He said it very matter of fact. Max stilled. Shit, he really was an assassin.  
  
"But, no, I'm not going to kill you," he said. "Or at least, I won't try," he amended. "The only source of   
nourishment I found is the diner across the street. And it looks pretty lethal."  
  
Max blinked. Was he making a joke?  
  
Zack suddenly frowned, shaking himself. Did he just make a joke? What the fuck was wrong with him?  
  
"Stay," he told her, heading for the door.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Max couldn't help the exclamation; it came of its own accord. Zack paused.  
  
"When are you going to let me go?"  
  
"When you feel more talkative," he told her.  
  
Max would have sighed if she didn't feel so breathless with anxiety already.  
  
"You know I don't have anything to tell you," she said, feeling a sudden, irritating sting at the back of her   
eyes.  
  
"Oh, do I?" Zack continued for the door. "We'll see. You'd be amazed how much a person has to say   
when he or she spends the night tied to the bed. And can't get to the bathroom."  
  
Max blinked. She looked across the room at the bathroom's door, then back at him. He couldn't be   
serious.  
  
Zack just shrugged. It had worked with Jondy when she hadn't wanted to tell him where Zane had taken   
off to, without authorization, last summer.  
  
Then he left.  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer and rating in chapter 1.  
  
  
  
Chapter 9  
  
Logan followed Lydecker through the trees besides the rest area where they'd stopped. They walked for a   
short while before either man spoke.  
  
"What's your name, son?" Deck finally asked.  
  
The other man paused, for just a moment. It wasn't a long moment, but it was a pause, anyhow.  
  
"Logan."  
  
Deck raised an eyebrow. "Just Logan?"  
  
Logan didn't even blink. "Just Logan."  
  
His companion had enough trust issues as it were. Logan had no intention of telling him he was the   
nephew of Jonas Cale, executive of Cale Industries…the corporation that built microchips for technology   
used by the very government Lydecker was trying to avoid…if he didn't have to.  
  
They stopped.  
  
"Well, Logan…let me point a few things out to you."  
  
He caught the younger man's gaze in his own.  
  
"You are currently standing within a hundred mile radius of Manticore's main complex."  
  
Logan blinked.  
  
"Yeah, that's right. We're just on the outskirts of Gillette. You're standing within a hundred mile radius of   
the *real* government capital, and you're standing here talking to a known traitor to the U.S. government."  
  
Deck said all these things casually. He slipped his hands into his coat pocket.  
  
"Now, the fact that you went through so much trouble to put yourself into this position, tells me you think   
you have a good reason for doing so." He shrugged. "Either that or you're stupid."  
  
Logan laughed. That cocky grin was back. "I found you," he reminded the other man.  
  
Deck could give him that. But, still…  
  
"The only thing that tells me, is that I haven't been doing my job as well as I should."  
  
"And what is your job, colonel?"  
  
Deck smirked. It had been a long time since anyone besides his wife called him 'colonel'.  
  
"To make sure Manticore never knows that I'm within a hundred mile radius of them."  
  
He started walking again, and again Logan followed.  
  
He'd been living here in Wyoming ever since he'd defected. He and his wife. He knew perhaps that he   
was being irrational. That woman the board got to replace him was good. She wasn't the best, but she was   
good. If any young hotshot with a PC could get to Deck, then it was just a matter of time before she did, as   
well. But until now Deck had never been able to convince himself to leave. Adrianna probably would   
have preferred their leaving. But she knew why Deck stayed. She never mentioned leaving because she   
knew why he had to stay. Because of them. His kids. Because of her. The "daughter" no one knew was   
still alive.  
  
He stayed to keep an eye on Manticore. To keep an eye on his kids.  
  
He was there when his kid, number 656, got into trouble. When her cover had been blown and her family   
was in danger. He'd helped her and her husband and child escape over the Canadian border. He was there   
when number 493 developed a chemical imbalance at the age of fifteen. All the kids had chemical   
imbalances; deficiencies that caused them to have severe seizures. When he'd worked at Manticore he'd   
done his best to hide the seizures from the board. He could only guess that his kids started covering for   
themselves once he'd left. But 493's imbalance was different. He started to develop…unstable tendencies.   
It had taken Deck every connection he had left within the country to secure the medication and therapy 493   
needed to overcome his difficulties. He would be taking that medication for the rest of his life. But he   
would live. And he would live like the others. He wouldn't self-implode, the way he would have if Deck   
hadn't intervened. He would live because Deck had been there.  
  
That was Deck's way of atoning for the fact that 493 lived in the first place. That any of them lived. That   
he had given those children a life behind cold, sterile walls under gunpoint.   
  
Lydecker shook himself out of his reverie looking over at his companion.  
  
He abruptly stopped once again.  
  
"I know who you are," he finally said. And this time he had the pleasure of seeing that he'd managed to   
really surprise the other man.  
  
He took a step closer.  
  
"You don't think I'd survived all this time by meeting with just anyone who claimed to know something   
about my kids."  
  
"I..uh…your kids?"  
  
"The X5s."  
  
Deck suddenly made a point of studying the foliage around them.  
  
"They were my project. I was their…teacher. They were my kids."  
  
He looked back at Logan and saw the younger man glancing at his pockets.  
  
He sighed, pulling his hands out and raising them.  
  
"I'm not going to shoot you, son. I know who you are because I made a point of knowing. Ever since you   
were about fifteen years old."  
  
Again, he'd managed to shock Logan.  
  
"What?"  
  
Deck smiled. But the expression slowly disappeared.  
  
"She was special, you know. She's special. You know that. You wouldn't be here if you didn't."  
  
"I…"  
  
"She was created using the DNA from my late wife, did you know that? In a way…she really was like my   
own kid. I certainly loved her as though she was." As though she were his own daughter.  
  
Deck's gaze was unflinching. There had been a time when he would have shied away from human   
emotion. After his first wife mysteriously died he'd abandoned humanity. But once he'd reclaimed it, he   
took no shame in doing so. He'd suffered for his country, he'd sacrificed, without objection, without   
emotion, for most of his adult life. He'd earned the right to a little humanity. And a little emotion.  
  
Even if he didn't usually flaunt it about.  
  
Deck coughed, looking away, then back.  
  
"I had to make sure she found a good home."  
  
Finally, Logan smiled. He'd been right.  
  
"Max. You helped her escape," he said. It wasn't a question.  
  
Deck nodded.  
  
"Her seizures were worse than any of the others. They would have eliminated her for that. I couldn't let   
that happen." His eyes darkened with anger at the thought, and he saw the same look in the other man's   
eyes. He smiled, knowing he'd made the right decision by meeting with this man. That he'd made the   
right decision ten years ago by having Adrianna meet with the Cales; posing as a caseworker and delivering   
Max to them.  
  
He remembered years before that, during his first marriage. His wife was pregnant with their child. It had   
been a summer night, and they'd sat on the back porch of their home, just staring at her stomach with   
wonder. They'd had no idea that she and their unborn child would die only three months later.  
  
"I want to name him Max," she'd suddenly said.  
  
Deck had raised a brow. His wife had been like that. Spontaneous. They hadn't talked about a single baby   
name, and suddenly she just throws one out, with that look of total certainty in her eyes with which she did   
everything.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"For my brother Max."  
  
Deck had laughed.  
  
"You haven't spoken to Max in three years. And the last time you did, you tried to hit him with the car."  
  
"He made me angry!"  
  
"Well, I hope so. I'd hate to think you go around, trying to run over people who make you happy."  
  
She'd smiled at that, planting a kiss on his neck.  
  
"If that were true, honey, I'd have run you over a long time ago."  
  
Deck had just sort of coughed at that. Damn, but he'd hated when she got sentimental. She'd always made   
him blush, and it had driven him crazy.  
  
After she was gone, he would have given his life to blush again.  
  
"He's family," she'd insisted. And Deck hadn't understood that then. He hadn't any family. He hadn't   
anything but her and his duty. Then, when she was gone, he had nothing but duty. Nothing but his service   
to sustain him. Until he met Adrianna. And then when he was put in charge of his kids.  
  
"And what if it's a girl?" he'd reasoned. They hadn't wanted to know. Well, she hadn't wanted to know.   
He hadn't thought he'd cared. Until the child was gone. He'd been haunted ever since by the not knowing.   
Had he lost a daughter or a son? Either way, the child was lost. But it felt wrong somehow, not knowing   
which.  
  
She'd looked at him mischievously, and had smiled even more widely. "Then we'll still name her Max."  
  
They never did.  
  
But, years later, when a tiny baby girl, with dark eyes, dark hair and skin, looked up at him from her bed…  
  
Deck had named her Max.  
  
Again, Deck had become lost in his thoughts, and he came out of them, shaking his head. He pulled a file   
out of his coat and handed it to Logan.  
  
The other man accepted it.  
  
"What…"  
  
"That's everything Max could ever want to know about herself," Lydecker told him. Then his face   
darkened for a moment. "For all the good that knowing will do."  
  
Logan looked up for the file.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Lydecker thought of the other sin for which he had to atone. Participating in the X5s creation had been   
one. Not having been able to free all of them had been the other. There was no way he could have gotten   
them all out. And even if he had, taking them all would caused too much attention. He'd been able, with   
the help of Adrianna, to falsify documentation making it seem as though Max had died. There was no way   
he could have done the same thing for all of them. Manticore would have come looking for them, and   
they'd have captured them all. Including Max.  
  
"There are others like Max," he told Logan now.  
  
"I know. Other x-series soldiers."  
  
Deck shook his head. "No, I mean others just like Max. X5s that escaped."  
  
Deck reached into his jacket again and pulled out a photograph. It was a black and white mug shot of a   
young boy, about thirteen.   
  
"That's Zack," he told Logan, tapping the photo. "X5 number 599."  
  
"599?"  
  
"The X5s had numbers, not names. They're identified by the barcodes on the back of their necks.   
Adrianna and I procured a treatment for Max that would keep the barcode from returning once it was   
removed. But the others have theirs permanently. Max's number was 459."  
  
"459…"  
  
Logan repeated the number to himself, remembering the rumor about the barcodes. Remembering the barcode he'd seen on the back of the neck of the woman who'd broken into his penthouse. This was all beginning to sound like some sort of science fiction   
story. He'd wanted to pursue Max's past, for her, but he'd never realized how emotional that pursuit could   
become for both of them. Just thinking about the world in which she could have grown up. The world   
where she'd been born…as just a number, not a person. Bar-coded like a thing. In danger of "elimination"   
for a health problem that hadn't even been her fault. Logan's jaw clenched. But he forced himself to stay   
focused on their conversation. Something the colonel said caught his attention.  
  
"Adrianna?" he asked.  
  
Lydecker blinked. He hadn't even realized he'd said her name. This was an emotional subject for him, as   
well.  
  
He took the photo back from Logan and put it in his coat. He didn't answer but he didn't have to.  
  
'Adrianna Vertes,' Logan thought.  
  
So the second part of his hypothesis had been confirmed, as well. It had been the doctor who'd disappeared   
from Manticore who had helped Max.  
  
But the colonel obviously did not want to comment on that topic, so he dropped it. He motioned to the   
pocket where Lydecker had stashed the picture instead.  
  
"He's a little young, don't you think?" he asked.  
  
"That picture is the last that was taken before the escape. He was eleven at the time. He orchestrated the   
escape."  
  
This surprised Logan.  
  
"At eleven years old?"  
  
Lydecker nodded, grimly. "You have to understand, son, this isn't a boarding school we're talking about.   
These children were trained to do exactly what they were created to do: to fight, to kill. Escape and evade.   
I heard the others named him "Zack". I was gone by then. He was trained as their commanding officer."  
  
Lydecker shook his head. His eyes full of a regret Logan couldn't even grasp at.  
  
"My greatest regret…" he began before he realized what he was saying. Then he realized he might as well   
finish. "My greatest regret was leaving them behind. Any of them. It had been hard on them before. I can   
only imagine what it was like when *she* took over." He didn't specify who "she" was, but Logan didn't   
get a chance to ask. Because then the colonel snapped out of the melancholy reflection.  
  
"He's a couple of years older than Max," Lydecker said now. "He helped the others escape in '09. Did a   
good job, too. Eighteen of the X5s got out, altogether. Only a handful of them were lost during the   
attempt."  
  
Logan felt a chill at the casual way the colonel said this. They were talking about children here. A   
"handful" of children who weren't "lost", they were killed, weren't they? "Eliminated".   
  
"I've managed to keep an eye on some of them over the years. Whenever I've caught wind of an order   
coming from the board concerning the X5s, I've done my best to help." Lydecker's hand unconsciously   
went to his chest. Right over the pocket where he'd placed the photograph of the boy. Then, when he   
noticed this, he smiled sheepishly, tapping the picture through his coat.  
  
"But I never found this one. He's too clever. If any of those kids had a tough life, and they did, this one   
had the toughest. As the CO he was responsible for the actions of all of the others, not just his own. And   
he's been living off the streets ever since the escape. He keeps the others in line. They take his orders.   
And he watches over them."  
  
Logan thought about this –about the boy in the picture. He was at once sympathetic and fearful. What   
must it have been like, to grow up like that? To never have a childhood. To have your life constantly in   
danger. To have a life of nothing but rules and regulations and training to kill. What must that have done   
to a boy? What kind of a man must that sort of life have made?  
  
"All I'm saying, son," Lydecker continued, "is that I understand why Max wants to know about her past. I   
understand that you want to give her that. But think about it first. Those kids, Zack, they knew exactly   
who and what they were. And they weren't a damn bit happier because of it."  
  
Logan looked from Lydecker to the folder.  
  
"And if you tell her, she's going to want to find the others. That might not be a wise decision," Lydecker   
said.  
  
Logan's eyes snapped back to the colonel at that. He didn't like the way the man said that.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
Lydecker sighed.  
  
"I mean exactly what I said. Those kids are loyal to one another. Incredibly so. They'd do anything for   
each other, to protect one another. But, Logan, as far as they're concerned…Max isn't one of them. As far   
as they know, she died in infancy, just like Manticore believes. Zack was only two when Max was taken.   
The others were even younger. They don't even know that she exists."  
  
Lydecker did his best to drive this point home for Cale. He loved his kids. He worried about them. All of   
them – especially Zack. Not despite how dangerous he may have become, but because of it. Because he   
knew that whatever kind of man Zack had become, he'd become so because Lydecker had left him there at   
Manticore to survive on his own. Despite this love, however, Lydecker had no illusions about what his   
kids were capable of. He didn't want Logan to have any illusions either.  
  
"If Max goes looking for the X5s they could misinterpret her motives. They could consider her a threat."   
Lydecker's face was grim as he said this, the subtle warning behind his tone very clear. "Zack isn't said to handle threats very graciously."  
  
Silence followed his words.  
  
Finally Logan looked at him, serious. He knew the trust the colonel was putting in him even just by   
meeting him today. He knew the trust he was putting in him by giving him this information, and by letting   
him be the one to decide whether or not to pass it on to Max.  
  
The thing was, he didn't consider it to be his decision. He'd already realized that it was Max's right to   
know who she was. He was Eyes Only; a "crusader for truth". He didn't shy away from the facts just   
because they might be hurtful. He couldn't be hypocriful now and try to shield her from the truth. Even to   
protect her. Telling her the truth might be the only way to keep her safe. Especially if what Lydecker said   
about these other X5s were true. What if Max somehow happened upon one of them, one day? What if   
one of them somehow found her? What if Manticore some how caught on to what Lydecker had done and   
came after her? She'd need to know the facts to be able to defend herself.  
  
Still, Logan knew that the colonel had a point. He knew that he was trusting him to do the right thing here,   
and he knew that trust was not placed lightly. Or happily.  
  
"I'll think about it," he promised.  
  
Lydecker just nodded.  
  
"Then I think our discussion here is over, don't you?"  
  
"I guess so."  
  
There was a moment, and then Logan stuck out his hand. This had been it. He had met Colonel Donald   
Lydecker. By all intense purposes, the closest thing Max had to a biological father. The reason she had   
survived Manticore to come and live with the Cales. The man Logan owed his life for having helped Max   
to survive.  
  
Likewise, Lydecker felt as though their meeting had…justified him in some way. He and Adrianna had   
handpicked the Cales very carefully as Max's adoptive parents. They'd gone through a great deal of effort   
to ensure her safety with them. But they'd never been able to be entirely sure that Max would make it. If   
there was anything of which Lydecker was certain, it was that you could never be certain. Such was the   
paradox that defined his existence. Now, however, he saw that he'd made the right choice. Max had made   
it. He'd given her that. And he'd given her what he'd been denied himself – a family.  
  
He'd known he would like the Cales. He'd met Logan Sr. once, and the two had hit it off right away. He'd   
admired the man. And he could tell his son had some of the same qualities. Logan Jr. was likeable, loyal,   
and perceptive. He kind of reminded Deck of himself when he'd been younger.  
  
And he'd been willing to risk his life for a dark eyed, dark-haired beauty named Max. Deck could certainly   
relate to that.  
  
When Logan held out his hand, Lydecker shook it.  
  
"Take care of yourself, son," he told him.  
  
"You, too."  
  
Lydecker smiled. Didn't he always?  
  
Then he turned, and began walking in the opposite direction of Logan's car.  
  
Logan blinked.  
  
"Uh…don't you…do you need a ride back into town?"  
  
Lydecker just waved the question away. And Logan turned his head for just a moment, just to glimpse   
back at his vehicle, sitting there by the road, some distance away.  
  
When he turned back, the colonel was gone.  
  
Short moments later, he heard a jeep starting its engine, from a distance away.  
  
He shook his head, smiling despite himself.  
  
Well, he should have known. After all…he'd said himself that the colonel never did anything without a   
reason.  
  
Logan began to walk back to his car…  
  
Then suddenly found himself lying on the ground.  
  
"What the…"  
  
He began to rise, but a boot at his throat caused him to still.  
  
"One move, and you're dead," an angry female voice commanded.  
  
Logan sighed. Once again, he couldn't argue with that.  
  
"Now give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you." his attacker coldly said next.  
  
Logan looked up at her black clad figure, then over to the highway. He'd gotten past the trees and into the   
clearing of the rest area before she'd assaulted him.  
  
"Because the motorists might find the scene offensive?" he asked weakly.  
  
That got her.  
  
She blinked and glanced over at the highway, as well. Two cars were just coming over the next rise.  
  
So she reached down and pulled Logan to his feet.  
  
"Fine. Move it into the car," she ordered.  
  
Logan sighed, and did as she said.  
  
Army types. They were definitely not very talkative.  



	10. Chapter 10

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer and rating found in chapter 1.  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Syl led her prey back to his car, pulling a handgun out of coat pocket, and keeping it close to the small of   
his back. Then she reached up and pulled off her mask, not wanting to risk causing anymore suspicion with   
those approaching motorists than she might already have done.  
  
She felt him tense when he heard her movements, and she knew he was going to turn to see her face.  
  
She jabbed that gun into his back a little harder.  
  
"Eyes forward," she ordered.  
  
She could have sworn she heard him sigh.  
  
When he got behind the wheel, she slipped into the back, keeping her gun down, but still trained on him   
through the seat.  
  
"Drive."  
  
"Listen. What…"  
  
"I said drive!" she snarled, bringing the gun up for just a moment, and pressing it to the man's temple.  
  
He shook his head, but nonetheless, he did turn the key in the ignition. Then he began to pull them out onto   
the road.  
  
Another jab from the gun made him pause.  
  
"Turn in the opposite direction," she told him. "And get us the hell out of Wyoming."  
  
Logan hesitated a moment, debating the wisdom of obeying this woman's commands.  
  
Then he figured she was right. He didn't particularly want to hang around Wyoming either. And she did   
have the gun, after all. Logan figured that helped her case considerably.  
  
He headed back the way he and Lydecker had come. Again, he was driving in silence.  
  
Meanwhile, in the back seat, Syl closed her eyes for just the briefest of moments, and she berated herself.  
  
'Stupid!'  
  
Oh, fuck, how could she have been so stupid!  
  
Here she'd been…all this time…watching him…and he was the enemy. Here she'd been, following him   
around. She'd seen the high-tech set up he had going in his penthouse. She'd watched as he met with   
policemen and doctors, people who were known, underground, as being somewhat friendly with the down   
and out. People who helped people, not soldiers. Not like everyone else, who were just in this life for   
themselves. Who would sell you out for an easy buck.  
  
Here she'd been…intrigued. Okay, she admitted it. He'd intrigued her by not calling the police that first   
day he'd caught her breaking into his penthouse. He'd intrigued her with the calm way he'd faced her that   
night. He'd intrigued her by turning out to be more than just some airheaded rich boy. And, let's just be   
honest, he'd intrigued her because he was one goddamned good-looking man.  
  
And all this time he was the enemy. She should have taken him out the first day she met him. She should   
have contacted Zack when she figured out he had something weird going on with those computers of his   
and his late night meetings.  
  
She should have done something but sit on a rooftop and watch the guy.  
  
But she hadn't, and he'd turned out to be the enemy. Meeting with former Manticore personnel. And she   
hadn't thought he even knew about her. About who she really was.  
  
Well, that just proved what a fool she'd turned out to be.  
  
Because he knew alright.  
  
He was having meetings with old Manticore brass. And in Wyoming, for crying out loud. Why not just   
announce the fact that he knew she was following him and that he'd just been playing with her?  
  
Maybe that was what he'd been doing.  
  
Maybe he had known she was there.  
  
Because he certainly picked a convenient place to meet with that old colonel…what was his name?   
Lydecker. They'd mentioned him back at Manticore – had called him a traitor. Not that Syl held to any of   
that old brainwashing propoganda. But, plain and simple, Manticore was Manticore.   
  
And this guy was meeting with Manticore.  
  
And Syl hadn't heard a single fucking thing they'd discussed.  
  
Oh, yes, he'd chosen the perfect place to meet with the colonel. And he must know one hell of a lot about   
X5s, because how else would he have known to secure the area in a way that she wouldn't be able to listen   
in to his conversation? He must have had some high-resolution signal amplifiers mounted in the trees days   
before. Then he'd tuned the amplifiers to emit on a frequency only an animal, or a person with impossibly   
advanced hearing, such as an X5, could detect. It was a simple tactic. One of her flaws, as a child, had   
been ultrasensitivity to certain types of sound. At Manticore, they would train her, again and again, looking   
for ways she could overcome that flaw and perform like any of the others. Jace and Kimble had had the   
same problem. One way of overcoming it was to learn, of course, to endure the pain caused by exposure to   
uncomfortable levels of sound. Syl knew she'd have a migraine now for a week because of today's   
activiites. Another way had been to learn to read lips – something she hadn't been able to do, because of   
the way the men were turned as they spoke; the way they kept moving.  
  
Granted, it was a simple tactic. But the fact that this man knew it told Syl what a complete and utter idiot   
she had been.  
  
'…stupid, stupid, stupid…'  
  
She'd thought he was a sheep, but he'd turned out to be a wolf, instead.  
  
Well, who the fuck cares? Her brother Zane had wolf DNA, and she could put his ass down in a bare-  
knuckled fight anytime.  
  
This guy wanted to see Manticore? She'd show him Manticore, alright. She'd give him a right good   
fucking show.  
  
"Pull over," she told him.  
  
There was no time like the present for a little ass kicking.  
  
  



	11. chapter11

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer and rating in chapter 1.  
  
Chapter 11  
  
"Pull over," she ordered.  
  
Logan hesitated a moment then he answered.  
  
"No way," he said firmly.  
  
"Excuse me?" she demanded. She was furious.  
  
Which was exactly why Logan was not stopping this car. He'd seen her face in the mirror. He knew this   
was the woman who'd been following him around Seattle. She wasn't back in Washington with Max. She   
was here with him. And she was obviously not pleased to find that he'd met with Lydecker. No doubt, she   
was one of the eighteen that Lydecker had mentioned. If she'd been a soldier working for Manticore, both   
he and the colonel would probably be dead by now.  
  
But if she'd been following him, spying on him, hadn't she heard the earlier conversation? Didn't she   
know she wasn't meeting with Lydecker because of anything dealing with her?  
  
Apparently, not.  
  
And he wasn't stepping out of this car with her until he could explain himself.  
  
"I said no," he told her simply, sounding a lot calmer, he'd admit, then he actually felt.  
  
Syl fumed. The nerve of this guy! What, was he suicidal?  
  
"Well, my gun says different," she told him, poking him through the seat.  
  
But Logan didn't pull over.  
  
"Well?" She poked him again.  
  
He didn't pull over. And Syl was losing patience.  
  
"What's it gonna be? Are you gonna pull over, or am I going to shoot you?" she asked.  
  
Logan thought about it for a moment. Then an idea formed. Now way, he couldn't just…  
  
But what else was he going to do? It was a crazy idea. But no crazier than stopping the car and letting   
some super human beat him to death.  
  
"Neither," Logan finally responded.  
  
"Wha…"  
  
Then he hit the accelerator. Hard. He accelerated so fast, Syl, who had not been expecting this, was   
thrown around in the back seat.  
  
"What the hell are you doing?" she shrieked.  
  
"Accelerating," he told her simply.  
  
"I know that! Why?"  
  
"Why?" Logan repeated. He looked back at her, pleased to see that her cool had vanished, if just for a   
moment, when he took his eyes off the road. Syl liked high speeds. When she was driving. But she   
wouldn't trust this nut to drive a tricycle.  
  
"Slow down!" she ordered, but in her anxiety, she forgot to wave her gun at him, or to poke him through   
the seat.   
  
'Good.' Logan thought he was developing a bruise from where she'd been jabbing him.  
  
He sped up.  
  
"What the fu…"  
  
Syl watched him, wide-eyed, as Logan calmly explained.  
  
"You see, if I stop this car, you're going to shoot me." Syl was shaking her head, but Logan just laughed at   
that. "Oh come on, be honest. You won't listen to me. You'll beat the crap out of me, then shoot me."  
  
Syl didn't say anything to that. It was true.  
  
Then she grabbed the back of the front seats in white-knuckled grips as Logan took a 65-mph turn at about   
101.  
  
If Syl had never prayed to the Blue Lady before, she was going to now.  
  
"I figure, if I'm in the car, and *I'm* the one driving, you'll have to listen," Logan continued, swerving   
around a car, and barely missing another.  
  
His brow was beginning to sweat. God, he hoped she listened. Otherwise there wouldn't be enough left of   
him after the crash to shoot.  
  
"How 'bout I just shoot you anyway?" Syl threatened, but the threat was idle and she knew it. If she shot   
him, he'd lose control of the car. There's no way she'd be able to get up there in the front seat, and get his   
body out of the way, in time to regain control. They'd crash. And at the speed they were going, if they   
crashed, even Syl, being so much more resilient than the average human, wouldn't be able to survive.  
  
Logan's smile told her he knew this.  
  
'Fuck!'  
  
Then she repeated this sentiment aloud.  
  
But finally, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them again she made her   
promise.  
  
"Alright, I'll listen to you."  
  
"Promise?"  
  
Syl's mouth dropped open. "What the fuck do you mean, do I promise? I just told you I'd listen! NOW   
SLOW THE GODDAMNED CAR DOWN!"  
  
Logan immediately took his foot off the gas, and as soon as it was safe, he slammed on the brakes.  
  
Syl flew forward between the seats, and she would have hit the dash if Logan hadn't twisted around,   
catching her.  
  
She ended up kind of tangled in his arms.  
  
Logan and Syl stared at each other in alarm. Neither had expected the tiny shock they felt upon making   
physical contact. It was thrilling and confusing and damn right intense.  
  
It was desire, Logan suddenly realized.  
  
He barely knew this woman. And he was in love with Max. How could he be having such a reaction to   
just having touched her?  
  
He tried to joke to lighten the mood. "I knew you'd see things my way," he told her.  
  
Syl did not find this funny.  
  
Her blank expression suddenly filled with irritation. "Why you sorry son of a …"  
  
Then a sound captured both their attentions.  
  
It was the sound of a police siren.  
  
"Oh, shit!" they exclaimed, simultaneously.  
  
Things had just gotten worse.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter 12

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer and rating in chapter 1.  
  
Chapter 12  
  
Her kidnapper was good at tying people up – this Max learned as she turned and twisted, trying to break   
free of her restraints. He'd no doubt had experience with this sort of situation.  
  
Max felt another chill go through her as she was reminded of the danger she was in with this man.  
  
She turned and twisted a little more.  
  
He was good with tying people up…but he'd probably never tied someone up who had the abilities that she   
had. And even if he had, he probably wasn't expecting that to be necessary with her. Granted, Max had   
tested her own strength so rarely, that she was unused to employing it. But fear and desperation   
encouraged her. And before long, she'd rubbed the skin on her wrists raw, but she'd managed to tear   
through the ropes. Right through them.  
  
When she was free, Max just stood there a moment, looking at her handiwork; at the once strong rope,   
lying in shreds at the head of the bed. She didn't know if she should feel proud or frightened.  
  
Then she blinked.  
  
She really didn't have time for either. She just had to get out of here!  
  
Max rushed to the door and pulled it open, stepping out…  
  
…and then she ran straight into a man's chest.  
  
Zack instinctively dropped the bags he'd been carrying, his arms snaking around his captive as soon as they   
bumped into one another. He held her in a vice-like embrace.  
  
Max was at once shocked and horrified. 'No!' This couldn't be happening to her…it just couldn't.  
  
Zack saw the look on the woman's face, felt the tension in her, and knew she was about to start panicking.   
But they couldn't have that out here in front of their room, could they? It would be calling attention to   
himself. And it was Zack's experience that things got messy whenever an X5 called attention to himself.  
  
"Listen…," he began, talking slowly and clearly, as if to a child, but with a firm tone that told Max he was   
not to be taken lightly about this. "…I'm not going to say a word about what you're doing out here. And   
you are not going to cause a scene, do you hear me? You are going to back up, and get in the room."  
  
Along with her fear, defiance and anger sparked hot in Max's eyes.  
  
She opened her mouth, and as if sensing her intentions, Zack tightened his arms around her. Max's eyes   
widened, and her mouth closed. He wasn't holding her tight enough to hurt her, but the gesture reminded   
her of the strength in this man. He was a good head taller than her, and when he was holding her she felt   
totally surrounded by him. She looked up and met his eyes. That was something she'd tried not to do since   
she'd woken up in the van. Those eyes sent shudders right down her spine.  
  
But she looked up now, and once she did, she couldn't look away. It was as if she were trapped in his gaze.   
And she felt her resolve wavering beneath his cool stare.  
  
"I'm not joking," he told her, one last time. "I don't want to hurt you, but…"  
  
Zack let the rest of the sentence go unsaid. Max believed it was because he felt he needn't voice the threat   
in his tone to make it real. In actuallity, he'd simply forgotten what he was saying. Those chocolate brown   
eyes of hers were locked with his. And it was odd… the oddest jolt ran down Zack's spine just looking   
into those eyes. The scent of lilacs filled his nostrils. And he was suddenly very aware of the petite body   
molded against his own, wrapped up in his arms…  
  
Zack shook his head, trying to clear away the disturbing thoughts and sensations before they could take   
hold.  
  
He finally stepped back, releasing Max so quickly, she had to stumble not to fall down.  
  
"Move it," he told her, his voice coming out harsher than he'd meant. If only Max knew it was unfamiliar   
desire that thickened his tone, not severity.  
  
Max complied without word, her eyes watering as she did so.  
  
She didn't even realize what she'd done until her captor was closing the door behind them, setting the   
locks.  
  
She'd gone back into the room. He'd given her a command, and she'd complied with a word. Without   
question. She'd been trying to make her get away, damn it! And the second he showed up, she just backed   
off without a fight.  
  
Max stood there shocked. Not believing herself.  
  
Why had she done that? Why did she listen to him? Because he'd told her not to cause a scene?  
  
Max reeled as a disturbing bit of truth assaulted her. She'd listened because she hadn't enough clarity of   
thought to do anything else. She'd listened because she'd been so consumed by him, basically…by his   
nearness, his presence…that she hadn't been able to think.  
  
'Oh, God…' This man had kidnapped her, and she was just going along for the ride. And why? Because   
she felt some sort of twisted, irrational attraction to the man?  
  
Anger at herself overrode all of Max's other feelings and thoughts. It took control. It eclipsed the   
realization that what she'd done was right. If this man really was a killer, then causing a scene could only   
have made things go from bad to worse. Starting a fight with him would have been unwise. It even   
eclipsed the realization that starting a fight with him now – behind a closed door – was, likewise, suicidal.  
  
Self-directed anger took hold of Max and eclipsed everything else.  
  
And so she lashed out.  
  
"What the hell do you think you're going to do with me? Keep me here forever? If you're going to kill   
me, get it the fuck over with already and stop stringing me along! You know damn well I have nothing to   
tell you! I was waiting up there for you, okay? Are you happy? There, I said it! I…"  
  
Max's heated monologue abruptly ended. Because then her captor reacted in a way she hadn't expected.  
  
Nor had Zack particularly expected it.  
  
But one second he was bolting the door, and the woman was raging in the background. It occurred to him   
that he should be annoyed. Annoyed that things weren't going as easily as he'd thought. Annoyed that this   
little human woman had made short work of the complex knot he'd used to restrain her. Annoyed that she   
was ranting now, as though she were the one with the upperhand here, not the trained killer holding her   
hostage.  
  
Zack realized that he should be annoyed…but he also realized that he wasn't. That fact hit him like a bolt   
of lightning. He wasn't annoyed, he was…intrigued. Amused, even? Yes. He was fucking amused?   
Since when did he ever appreciate the humor in a given situation? But it was true – he was amused. And   
intrigued. Here this little human woman had very nearly escaped *him*, and now she was standing there   
ranting like she had the upperhand. It was awfully…brave of her.  
  
And something about the fire in her eyes as she argued… The defiance in her posture, and the pout in her   
lips…  
  
Zack found himself smiling in amusement; his eyes burning with the curiosity this woman had roused to   
know more about her.  
  
And before Zack realized what he was doing, instinct took over, and suddenly his eyes were burning with   
something else, as well.  
  
Before he could stop himself, he leapt at her, coming to her side in a blur of speed that normal humans   
weren't capable of. Her words died out as she saw him move, and before she could say anything else, Zack   
had pulled her into a crushing embrace yet again.  
  
And this time, as he held her, his lips held hers, as well. He kissed her, passionately. Roughly. He took   
her face in his hands and kissed her with every bit of desire he felt churning inside of him.  
  
A part of Zack was every bit of surprised as Max was, maybe even more so. He didn't act like this. He   
didn't spontaneously combust just because he was near a pretty woman with an angry attitude. To tell you   
the truth, unless he was in heat, he usually paid little attention to the women around him – pretty or not. He   
certainly didn't just kiss them right in the middle of a sentence. And, despite that, he was hardly   
inexperienced with the opposite sex. But in none of his experiences had he ever just defied common sense   
like this. He'd always retained an acceptable level of control. The fact that, with this woman, in this   
instance, he didn't feel the same need to hold back…it actually shocked him.  
  
A part of Zack was just waiting for her to push him away. To slap him or to screech indignantly or to get   
this scared, violated look on her face. A part of him almost welcomed the rejection. It would put him in   
his place. Would remind him why this was crazy and wrong; foolish, really.  
  
But, alas…she didn't slap him. She kissed him back.  
  
For a moment, Max just stood there, shocked and unresponsive. Then, yet again to both their surprise, she   
kissed him back. His arms wrapped around her, and she linked hers around his neck. She didn't really   
understand why. She was still angry with him and with herself. She was still aware of the situation and of   
who this man was. He was most definitely not someone she should be kissing – he'd kidnapped her, after   
all. He'd been spying on her brother. But something had captivated her about him since the moment she'd   
felt his breath against her skin up there on that roof. Something had drawn her to him. He was oddly   
familiar to her senses, somehow, and yet unfamiliar. She knew she didn't know him, but she felt, deep   
inside of her, that she should. It was strange and confusing but totally irresistible.   
  
So when he kissed her…and all of those strange and confusing emotions overtook her, when desire   
overtook her…desire like she'd never felt before…she didn't push him away. She kissed him back.  
  
That reaction had the opposite effect of returning Zack's sanity.  
  
With something between a groan and a growl, he lifted her in his arms, their mouths still locked.   
  
Max knew she had to have gone insane. That was the only explanation. Otherwise she wouldn't possibly   
be doing this. She didn't even know his name! But there she was, and the wilder his kisses became, the   
wilder hers became, as well. When he lifted her, she wrapped her legs around his waist. When his hands   
began to knead the muscles in her back, her fingers tangled in his hair. He was surprisingly tender and   
excitingly passionate, both at the same time, and all of this in only moments.  
  
When his lips strayed from her lips, down her neck, Max gasped, a thrill running through her. When she   
returned the gesture, Zack's sharp intake of breath told her she was at least effecting him every bit as much   
as he was effecting her. Then he growled again, making Max shudder and hold onto him even tighter.   
During this time, they had moved from where they'd been by the door closer to the beds. One last step   
back, and they were tumbling onto one.  
  
The feel of the mattress beneath had the power to do what nothing else had. It brought Max and Zack back   
to their senses.  
  
Suddenly, they stopped. They were both breathing heavily, and they were both stunned at what had just   
happened.  
  
They just stared at one another.  
  
Then Zack was the first to recover.  
  
He pulled back suddenly, sitting up. And the look on his face was so perplexed, Max forgot to feel   
embarrassed about what had just happened or afraid of what would happen next.  
  
"I…"  
  
He didn't know what to say. He really didn't know what to say.  
  
"Just…"  
  
He had to leave. That's what he had to do. He glanced at the shredded ropes still lying there on the bed,   
but he hardly blinked. There was too much on his mind right now to think about how she'd done that.  
  
"Stay," he simply said.   
  
Then he got out of that motel room as though there were an army of Manticore's finest hiding in the closet.  
  
So Max just sat there, trying to compose herself.  
  
What the hell had just happened?  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Okay, I don't know if this chapter went like it should have. I've criticized people, often enough   
before, for getting characters together too quickly too easily. That's not what I was trying to do. I just kind   
of got this idea that if Max and Zack had met, as adults, without any preconceived notions of one another,   
that they would totally blow one another away. Max has never been around one of her kind before, and   
Zack's never been around her before, so they're both drawn to each other and they don't know what to do   
about it. I don't know if that came off or not. Let me know.  



	13. Chapter 13

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
pari106@hotmail.com  
http://www.geocities.com/pari106/damain.html  
  
Disclaimer and rating found in chapter 1.  
  
  
  
Chapter 13  
  
  
  
Both Logan and Syl froze in place. In the rearview mirror the flashing lights of a patrol car appeared over   
the horizon, closing in fast. Syl scrambled into the passenger seat.  
  
"Shit!" they cussed, simultaneous yet again. Logan looked amused; Syl glared at him. Surprisingly, Logan   
was the first to recover.  
  
"Give me your gun."  
  
"What?"  
  
Syl looked at the human as if he'd lost his mind. But Logan's eyes stayed firmly on the rearview mirror.   
  
Logan sighed. "Look, I can't sit here while that policeman walks over, knowing you have a gun. The   
last thing we need right now is for you to shoot a cop."  
  
"I'm not going to shoot a cop."  
  
Despite her words, Syls's fingers tapped against the weapon in her hand as she watched the cop car stop   
about a foot behind them on the shoulder.  
  
Logan frowned.  
  
"Why don't we just removed the temptation?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"Getting caught with an unregistered weapon – I assume it's unregistered – here in Wyoming is not going   
to help you," he told her.  
  
Syl didn't dispute the illegal status of her gun.  
  
"Why don't I just shoot you now? That'll help me considerably," she snapped.  
  
She was being irrational, and she knew it. She had a habit of lashing out first, and thinking second, when   
she was angry. Zack had accused her of it time and time again. The fact that this stranger was nearly   
smirking at her, the same accusation in his eyes, made Syl only want to do more of the same. But she   
realized that this argument was becoming stupid.  
  
The patrolman was getting out of his car.  
  
"Uh…I don't think having a corpse in the car would help you very much, either," Logan interjected then.  
  
He had a point. Syl didn't like it, but he had a point.  
  
And he was giving her that *look*. That 'aren't I reasonable, do as I say' look she'd seen him give some   
of his late-night contacts from afar. She'd always thought he was insufferably cute when he got that look.   
If she hadn't, Logan might have been safe in the gesture. But as it was, the *look* just raised Syl's ire even   
further. This guy was an arrogant prick researching Manticore. What right did he have to be so cute?  
  
Regardless, the policeman was walking towards them. Syl shoved her piece in the waistband of her jeans.  
  
"Happy now?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
Then he did something so unthinkable, Syl, with her super fast reflexes, didn't even think to block his   
movements.  
  
He reached over and grabbed her gun.  
  
He grabbed *Syl's* gun.  
  
Syl, who had once broken her own brother's leg for snooping around the personal arsenal she kept at her   
place.  
  
Then he slipped the gun into the back waistband of his slacks.  
  
"Now I'm happy."  
  
"You…"  
  
But Syl didn't have time to protest further. Because then the cop was at Logan's window, and he had a   
finger on the switch to roll it down. Syl felt the adrenaline rush that always accompanied the anticipation   
of battle.  
  
"Let me do the talking," Logan told her. All she could do was nod and try to keep still.  
  
Then he pushed the switch.  
  
'Show time,' Logan thought, kneading the steering wheel nervously.  
  
'At least she's disarmed now.'  
  
He wished that thought made him feel safer, but somehow it didn't.  



	14. Chapter 14

"The Story of Max Cale"  
by pari106  
  
Disclaimer, etc., found in chapter 1.  
  
A/N: Yea, gods, an update! Please review or I'll think you've all given up on me and this fic and won't   
continue.  
  
  
  
Chapter Fourteen…  
  
  
  
Silence permeated the motel room. Just as it had ever since her mysterious kidnapper had   
stormed out and then returned, stony-faced and unapproachable.  
  
Not that Max particularly wanted to approach him. It had taken the entire time he'd been   
gone for the blush to fade from her cheeks…for her hands to steady and her stomach to   
settle. Just being near him again made Max's whole being quiver with an awareness their   
odd, quick kiss had awakened within her. An awareness that confused her, embarrassed   
her; angered her, somehow. And frightened her.  
  
But it also did something else. It intrigued her. He intrigued her. She hadn't wanted to   
think about that awareness all this time he'd been gone, leaving her to dread but also   
anticipate his return. She hadn't wanted to think about it, so she'd thought about him   
instead. And the more she thought about him the more intrigued she became.   
  
The more intrigued she became…the more questions she formed about the man who'd   
abducted her and the purpose of his presence on that rooftop. What had he been doing   
there? What was he going to do with her now? What if she'd been wrong about him –   
about who he was and what he intended? He didn't act like a cold-blooded killer. Nor   
like any of the other criminals Max's brother had come up against in his work as Eyes   
Only. He hadn't once hurt her the entire time they'd been together; not even when she'd   
challenged him. He'd wanted her just as badly as she'd wanted him during their mad kiss   
earlier…Max knew it. But he hadn't forced himself on her. He hadn't even pressed his   
advantage over her; exploited the confusing desire he'd inspired within her. *Had* she   
been wrong about him? Or was that aforementioned "confusing desire" clouding the   
issue? Perhaps he wasn't who she'd thought he was. Or perhaps he was, but he had   
some weird set of moral priorities that allowed him to kill and kidnap, but not to rape or   
sexually manipulate his victims?   
  
As they sat at the motel room's small table, finally attempting to eat what resembled an   
actual meal, Max pondered all these questions and wondered how she would find the   
answers to them. Who was the man sitting across from her? What did he really want?  
  
How would she know if she didn't ask?  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Silence permeated the motel room. Just as it had ever since Zack had returned from   
clearing his head. Zack frowned around his next bite of Chinese food, resisting the   
sudden compulsion to sneer. 'Clearing his head'…yeah, right. Things didn't seem a bit   
clearer now than they had when he'd left. How could they? He was still here, with   
*her*. She was still every bit of goddamned unnerving as she had been when he'd left.   
*He* was still every bit as unnerved as he had been when he'd left. And, damn it, he had   
no idea why. Every nerve ending in his body seemed to be standing on end, and all his   
muscles had tensed like tightly wound springs. He felt like the slightest movement, the   
slightest sound, could totally shatter his concentration.  
  
And, of course, as luck would have it…that's when she chose to speak.  
  
"Are we going to keep doing this?" she suddenly asked, quietly.  
  
She asked quietly, but after the long period of awkward silence they'd endured, Max's   
words seemed loud enough to startle both of them.  
  
Zack looked up at her, sharply. And Max felt whatever else she was going to say die in   
her suddenly dry throat. Those eyes of his were piercing her again. Then they returned   
to his food.  
  
"Doing what?" he asked.  
  
After a moment, Max relaxed. At least he was answering. That was enough to rebolster   
her courage. A little.  
  
"Acting like nothing even happened," she told him.  
  
Zack let her words hang in the air for a moment, then set his chopsticks down. His first   
impulse was to tell her 'Nothing did happen' and brush the whole thing off. It had just   
been a kiss, after all. A stupid little kiss. But it had effected him. And if she was   
mentioning it now, then it had obviously effected her, as well. Which could be a   
problem. And Zack did not avoid his problems. They only seemed to end up biting him   
on the ass that much harder when he did.  
  
"I'm sorry I kissed you," he said finally, shrugging to give the appearance of   
nonchalance.  
  
Max hadn't known exactly what she'd expected him to say, but that wasn't it. Startled,   
she spoke without thinking. Again.  
  
"That's it?" she asked.  
  
Zack frowned. "What more do you want?"  
  
Max found herself inexplicable irritated by his casual tone and behavior.  
  
She glared at the man across the table.  
  
"Letting me go would be nice," she told him in a biting tone. "If you hadn't kidnapped   
me in the first place, I wouldn't have had to try and escape. Then there wouldn't have   
been a kiss."  
  
The total absurdity of her last sentence hit struck Max as soon as she said it. She was   
angry at him for abducting her, damn it, why the hell had she even bothered mentioning   
that stupid kiss again. He was going to think she was obsessing about it. Then he   
responded, with a short little laugh that wasn't a laugh, and the absurdity of the situation   
just continued.  
  
"I didn't kidnap you," he told her.  
  
Max snorted. "Yeah, you just grabbed me in a chokehold and whisked me away in the   
back of your van. What the hell do you call that?"  
  
Zack shrugged again. "I thought you were someone else." It was the truth. He'd   
learned, over time, that telling the truth could be the easiest way of not telling anything at   
all. Because very often the truth was the last thing anyone believed. This time was no   
different.  
  
"Yeah, right," Max said. "So you'd really intended to kidnap this 'someone else'."  
  
Zack sighed. "I didn't intend to kidnap anybody."  
  
"Well, you kidnapped me!"  
  
"I did not!"  
  
"Then what the hell *did* you do?"  
  
"I told you. I thought you were someone else. Someone who needed to leave town with   
me right away, whether she wanted to or not." Why the hell was he telling her all that?  
  
"Then now that you know I'm not her, why are you keeping me around?" Max asked.   
Why the hell was she playing along as if anything he was saying were true? "You   
haven't even called in and asked for a ransom." Well… At least she hadn't thought that   
he had. That very well could have been what he was doing while he was gone.  
  
Zack resisted the urge to scream. He slapped his hands down on the table instead,   
causing Max to jump. He didn't notice. He leaned forward, speaking very slowly.  
  
"There isn't going to be any ransom. I_did_not_kidnap you," he ground out.  
  
Well…technically, he had hadn't he? But he was going to let her go. Once he   
determined whether or not she knew anything about Syl or where she was. He could tell   
her that if she ever gave him the chance.  
  
Max made a sudden, frustrated keening sound in her throat and pushed away from the   
table so fast her chair fell over. Then she turned her back on him, her fists clenching at   
her sides. To her horror, she felt frustrated tears stinging at the back of her eyes.  
  
"Why the hell are you playing with me like this?" she practically screamed.  
  
As quickly as it had risen, Zack's annoyance with the strange woman he'd inadvertently   
captured disappeared. He heard the thick, unnatural tone of voice and saw the slight   
quiver in the woman's shoulders as she turned away from him, and he blinked in surprise.   
Was she…crying? Was she going to cry?  
  
The sudden, sickening idea that she was struck Zack and discomforted him immensely.   
He was not good with crying. Of any kind. And it didn't occur to him at the moment to   
question why he cared whether or not this woman cried. The only people he had ever   
cared about had been his brothers and sisters. He only knew that, for some reason, if the   
young woman in his charge was crying, then he'd have to do something about it.   
Because he did care. And he had no idea what that "something" that he'd have to do   
could be.  
  
He stood up and walked over to her, but didn't do anything more than that. Then he   
spoke.  
  
"I'm not playing with you," he told her quietly. It was the truth, after all.   
  
Max, having collected herself somewhat, whirled back around angrily.  
  
"I know…"  
  
Then her words caught in her throat when she realized he was standing right there behind   
her. In fact…when she'd turned…she'd very nearly bumped right into him. Into the   
strong, hard wall that was his chest. Just staring at it, Max remembered how it had felt to   
be pressed up against it the last time. How it had felt to have those strong arms of his   
wrapped around her…how his lips had felt on hers… Max's eyes widened.  
  
"You know what?" Zack asked, after a long pause. Was his voice really that low, that   
deep? Or was she imagining it? Max licked her lips.  
  
And Zack felt his stomach tighten, watching her. Watching that tiny tongue reach out to   
wet the full lips around it. He remembered how that tongue had felt mingling with his   
own…how his captive had tasted when he'd crushed her body to his, exploring her mouth   
with his own… Zack's fists clenched at his sides now, as well.  
  
It was there again – that strange, unnerving something between them. It had happened   
again – the temperature in the room had just skyrocketed. Hadn't it? Or was he   
imagining it?  
  
Max forced her mind to concentrate on the conversation at hand.   
  
"I know you were on that roof before," she said finally, looking over his shoulder.   
Looking anywhere, really, to avoid looking at him. She didn't need to look at him. Just   
standing next to him was bad enough; smelling him…that scent of leather and soap and   
steel and man…   
  
Zack's gaze sharpened and his body stilled at her words, their implication suddenly   
giving him something to focus on besides the desire that had ambushed them both.  
  
"You do?" he asked carefully.  
  
Max let her eyes return to her kidnapper's face, sighing in frustration. Now she, too, had   
a focal point for her attention. One that was not this man's devastating effect on her   
senses.  
  
"Logan saw you. And I saw you, too. You've been going there often enough. I know   
you were just waiting to make your move."  
  
Zack was still standing there, staring at her, but his mind was going a mile a minute. He   
had no idea who Logan was…the rich guy in the penthouse, perhaps? Quickly, he   
replayed everything that had happened since the day he'd discovered Syl's fascination   
with Foggle Towers. And since he'd grabbed this woman thinking she was Syl.  
  
Something she'd said before came back to him.  
  
"I was waiting up there for you, okay!" she'd told him, when they'd argued before.   
Before the kiss.   
  
"You know Logan," he said now. He didn't make the words either a statement or a   
question. He just let the woman take them as they were. It seemed that she'd already   
come to her own conclusions about this situation and, if he only waited, she would share   
them all on her own.  
  
He was right. Max had drawn her own conclusions. One of which being that he'd   
known who she was. He'd been spying on Logan's penthouse all this time, he'd have to   
know. Plus, he'd kidnapped her. Why would he have done that if he thought she was   
just some nobody off the street? Now Eyes Only's one and only sister… Now that was   
ransom material.  
  
"I live with him," she said, irritably, crossing her arms. It was close enough to the truth.   
She stayed with him most of the time. She had her own place, too; two, actually. One in   
Seattle, and one in California, where's she'd been just recently before returning to   
Seattle. But he didn't need to know that. If he didn't already. "You know that. You've   
been spying on us long enough."  
  
"I was up there waiting for you, okay!" The words repeated in Zack's brain yet again.  
  
"And you were waiting on the roof to catch me," he said in another noncommittal tone of   
voice. He found himself smiling. *She* had been waiting on the roof to catch *him*.   
*She* had thought he was Syl. Just as he had thought the same about her.   
  
It was awful.  
  
It struck Zack as so damned funny it was just plain awful.  
  
Max glared. "You don't have to rub it in," she muttered.  
  
Zack had the horrifying suspicion that he was about to laugh. Then something else she   
had said registered in his mind.  
  
"I live with him," she'd said. She lived with this Logan guy. In Foggle Towers. She   
lived with this very wealthy, very-fascinating-according-to-Syl Logan guy in Foggle   
Towers. Syl had spent all this time spying on a man who was already taken. By this   
woman. This woman who knew nothing about Syl.  
  
This woman, who, it turns out, he really had kidnapped, after all.  
  
Zack remembered the man he'd seen running through the penthouse when he'd left the   
roof with "Syl" under his arm. Remembered how he'd raced about as though looking for   
something. Zack had assumed it was something Syl had stolen.  
  
Now he knew differently. He knew the man had been looking for something *Zack* had   
stolen. This woman.  
  
And with that thought, any urge Zack might have had to laugh completely fled his mind. 


	15. Chapter 15

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
Disclaimer, etc., found in chapter one.  
  
  
  
Chapter Fifteen…  
  
  
  
Max watched her kidnapper's face as a myriad of emotions passed over it. One moment   
he was smiling…an infuriatingly amused smile that made her want to glare. What was so   
damned amusing about this situation all of a sudden?  
  
But then the smile disappeared, and Max realized she should have been careful what she   
wished for. The man before her did not look amused. He didn't even look like the same   
man. His face had taken on a severity it hadn't had before; an intensity that suddenly   
stilled Max and made her want to take a step back.  
  
What had she said to make him look at her that way?  
  
Zack abruptly took a step forward, and this time Max did step away. The back of her   
thighs bumped against the motel room's small dresser, and she had to catch herself on its   
edge to keep from falling.  
  
Then he grasped her by the elbow, making her swallow a small gasp.  
  
"What…"  
  
"Hurry up and finish eating," he told her strictly, signifying the sudden, strange end of   
their conversation. Even Zack's voice had changed. It was now so devoid of emotion, so   
harsh, Max didn't recognize it. What was going on?  
  
"Why?" she found herself asking.  
  
"We're leaving."  
  
As Max dropped into her seat, watching her kidnapper warily, he turned his attention   
back to his food.  
  
Then he added:  
  
"We're heading back into Seattle."  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Meanwhile…  
  
  
There wasn't much to be seen or spoken of on IH77 that day. And no one to speak of it   
to if there were. Officer Calhanen had learned that folks didn't linger on the highways   
much anymore. Travel was highly restricted, and those citizens lucky enough to escape   
those restrictions were generally the type to get where they needed to go and to stay out   
of trouble along the way. Unless trouble was what they were after in the first place…   
But even those types of people were few and far between there in Gillette, where   
Calhanen was stationed.  
  
Which made it all the more surprising that day when a nice-looking SUV came over the   
hill just a click down the highway from where Calhanen was parked. Surprising since the   
SUV was doing about 110. Or more. Officer Calhanen was taking a wild guess at the   
speed; his radar was turned off. But he didn't need it to tell him that SUV was trouble. It   
wasn't just speeding…it was speeding in both lanes of the road, and sometimes on the   
shoulder.   
  
So Calhanen turned on his sirens and gave pursuit.   
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
'Nice couple.'  
  
That's what Officer Calhanen would have been thinking as the driver of the SUV rolled   
down his window. He realized this as he took a mental note of the vehicle's license   
number, make and physical description, as well as that of its passengers.  
  
'Young Caucasian male…looks to be about thirty…young Caucasian female…looks to   
be about twenty…blonde…'  
  
He would have been thinking 'Nice couple.' If the driving for which he'd pulled them   
over had been anything like "nice". And if the female didn't currently appear as though   
someone had sent an electric current straight through her spine. Calhanen was not the   
most intuitive of persons, he knew, but you just couldn't miss the kind of tension hanging   
around the young strangers sitting there next to him. And around the young woman, in   
particular. She was a pretty little thing…but something about her made him think "coiled   
snake."  
  
'You've been pulling too many dull shifts, Calhanen,' he thought to himself.   
  
"Can I see your license, registration, and permit, sir," he asked aloud. Those were   
Washington plates.   
  
"Sure thing, Officer," the driver said with a friendly enough smile, as he reached for the   
necessary papers. But then he asked, "Is there a problem?"  
  
Calhanen just stared at him.  
  
And Logan tried very hard not to wince. He'd been driving nearly 120 miles per   
hour…of course there was a problem. What the hell was he saying? 'You idiot!' he   
thought. Just as Syl said…  
  
"You idiot!"  
  
And then, with reflexes too fast for Logan to see her arm as it passed him, she reached   
across and through the window…grabbed the cop standing there by the collar of his   
uniform, and pulled him through, face first into the steering wheel. The horn blared as   
the officer, unconscious, fell limp. Then Syl pushed him back out the window.  
  
All in the amount of time it would take a human to blink.  
  
Logan blinked. Silence ensued. And then chaos.  
  
"What the hell was that?"  
  
"That was me saving your stupid ass from any more embarrassment!"  
  
Syl shook her head. "Sure thing, Officer? Is there a problem? Would he have pulled us   
over if there wasn't a problem with driving like a blind chimp?"  
  
Logan glared. His usually slow-building temper rising quickly after the roller-coaster   
ride this woman had given his blood pressure. "Excuse me if I'm a little nervous getting   
caught with a trigger-happy transgenic on my hands!"  
  
"You've got my gun," was Syl's sour, narrow-eyed response.  
  
"That doesn't make me feel a whole hell of a lot better," Logan grumbled, voicing his   
earlier, now justified, concerns.  
  
And that made Syl smile.  
  
Before he knew what was coming, Syl had a one-handed chokehold on Logan's neck.  
  
"Glad to hear it," she purred.   
  
And for the first time in his life Logan thought that maybe having a woman purr at him   
was not a good thing. At least not with this woman. He swallowed. Hard.  
  
"Drive," Syl said then, a frown reappearing as she settled back into her seat.  
  
She needed some distance between herself and Gillette before that cop woke up.  
  
Then she'd introduce Logan Cale to a few other sounds she'd be glad to hear.  
  
Like the sound of his bones breaking if he so much as looked at her the wrong way ever   
again.  
  
"And give me my gun back," she added, as an afterthought.  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
A/N: Okay, guys, what do you think? I know this is short…but it's all I could manage   
right now. I'd originally planned a long scene with the cop, but the dialogue just wasn't   
flowing. So I thought I'd let Syl cut the bullshit and lead us into the next chapter ;P Did   
it work out okay? Please let me know. 


	16. Chapter 16

The Story of Max Cale  
by pari106  
  
Disclaimer, etc. , in chapter one.  
  
  
  
Chapter Sixteen…  
  
  
  
They were nearly out of gas before Syl ordered Logan to stop his SUV yet again. They   
turned into a gas station and pulled up to a pump just as the little "empty tank" light   
started flashing on his console.  
  
From the back seat Syl grinned, a flash of brilliant white teeth transforming her entire   
face from predatory to pretty just like that.  
  
"Is that some timing, or what?"  
  
Logan swallowed and frowned simultaneously. 'Oh, yeah, some timing…' Why the hell   
would he pick a time like this to be noticing how pretty his would-be-kidnapper could   
be? Syl didn't give him time to consider the matter.  
  
"Okay, here's the deal… You're gonna get out and pump us some gas. Nothing more.   
Then we're gonna go in and pay, I'm gonna make a phone call…" Syl disarmed her   
piece and tucked it into the back of her jeans. She'd had it ready and trained on Logan,   
through the back of his seat, ever since they'd left that cop on the side of the road. "Then   
we're gonna get back in the car and head out again. And you aren't going to try anything   
or you're gonna wish I didn't mind using my gun in public places."  
  
Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 'More threats…how unexpected.' Only the   
strong suspicion that this woman's bite was every bit as bad, if not worse, than her bark   
kept him quiet. Well… Mostly quiet.  
  
"You know, if you'd just let me explain why I was talking with General Lydecker – I   
assume that's what's got you so pissed off – none of this would be necessary," he   
couldn't resist saying.  
  
Syl's eyes – and her expression – hardened at the mention of Deck, but other than that   
she didn't respond for a moment or two.  
  
If this guy was onto her…and Syl was sure he was…and he was working with Lydecker   
(as he obviously was) than the whole situation had suddenly gotten too big for just her by   
herself. This wasn't just a matter of the large amount of pride Syl had to swallow,   
realizing she'd practically walked right into all of this by hanging around Cale's   
penthouse…it was a matter of exposure  
  
"I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much."  
  
She had to call Zack.   
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
It had gotten dark by the time Max and Zack had finished eating and Zack had checked   
the room to make sure they hadn't left any trace of their being there. The entire time Max   
wanted to ask what had suddenly turned his mood so dark, but she didn't dare. Just the   
look in his eyes was enough to keep her quiet.   
  
Not that Max thought she could make things any worse. Her kidnapper's stormy temper   
couldn't be a sign of good things to come. And though he'd told her they were going   
back to Seattle, she didn't imagine that they'd be going back so she could go home. Max   
was nervous thinking about it. She'd begun to sweat and her palms were clammy. Her   
hands…  
  
'Oh, shit!'  
  
Max looked down at her right hand where it lay on her knee, as she sat there on the bed   
waiting for Zack to come for her. Her right hand was shaking. And she grabbed it with   
her left hand, swearing under her breath.  
  
Great. Just what she needed. Her seizures were coming on again. Max knew the signs.   
And trapped with a man she didn't much care to be around, considering the   
circumstances, while she was sick, they were very bad signs.   
  
She was still wondering what she would do when Mr. Tall-Dark-&-Deadly showed back   
up.  
  
"Alright. Let's move out," he said in a no-nonsense tone, standing in the doorway.  
  
Preoccupied, Max just nodded and followed his lead. Zack grabbed her arm as she   
stepped out the door.   
  
"Just take it slow, and don't try anything," he commanded.  
  
If he found her sudden acquiescence disturbing, he didn't show it. Until Max had climbed up into the back   
of the van and he was about to close the doors. Because then she stopped him from doing so.  
  
"Wait!"  
  
Zack raised an eyebrow and scowled. "What?"  
  
"Milk," Max said. When she didn't see any understanding lighting in her captor's eyes, she repeated   
herself. "Milk. I need a glass of milk."  
  
Zack's voice was incredulous. "*Now?*"   
  
"Yes." Max glanced over at the diner nearby. "We can stop there before we leave."  
  
Zack laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, no. I'm not falling for that."  
  
"Please," Max asked. And something in her voice, and in her eyes, made Zack's amusement fade. She   
sounded so serious. And his instincts, for some reason, were telling him to humor her.  
  
"I'm really thirsty," Max tried as an excuse, lamely.  
  
At first she didn't think she would be in luck. Then suddenly Zack swung the van door open a little wider   
and pocketed his keys.  
  
"Alright. You can get something to drink. Then we leave."  
  
Max was so relieved she could have hugged him. Almost.   
  
"Thank you," she said sincerely, with a smile, as she climbed down. Then Zack's strong grip was on her   
arm once again.  
  
"But I'm coming with," he told her. His tone broached no argument.  
  
"Of course," she simply replied.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Max gulped down the milk in her glass almost in one breath. She'd avoided drinking much in front of her   
companion so that he wouldn't see how her hands shook as she held the glass. Now she drained it all at   
once. For the most part, the shakes were subsiding. And Max knew she had to make her move while she   
could, to get away.   
  
She was pretty sure she could make it close to home before a full-blown seizure hit. Well, she was almost   
pretty sure. She hadn't had one yet. And she'd just had what could easily be compared to a Grand Mal   
while she was at Logan's. She couldn't have another this soon.  
  
Could she?  
  
Either way, she couldn't have one in front of her kidnapper. What if he decided her ransom wasn't worth   
the trouble and offed her so he wouldn't have to deal? What if her seizure hit and he thought she was dying   
anyhow, so why not help her along and cut his losses? Of course, there was the possibility that he planned   
to kill Max anyhow, so none of that really mattered… But just in case…  
  
Zack got back to the table with Max's second glass of milk just as she set down her first.  
  
She really did look pitiful – pale and drawn. So he'd gone to the diner's counter and had gotten her another   
glass of milk when she'd asked, keeping an eye on the door and in her general direction at all times. Even   
though she'd barely touched the first glass of milk he'd ordered for her.  
  
"You know, for someone claiming to be so thirsty, you sure don't dri…" Zack stopped, mid-sentence.  
  
He looked at the empty glass sitting before his unfortunate captive.  
  
'Okay…'  
  
"Really got a thing for dairy, huh?" he quipped, sliding into the booth, across the table from Max.  
  
"Does a body good, you know," she quipped back, remembering the old phrase.  
  
Zack gave her a lopsided grin. No wonder he'd mistaken her for Syl – lilac or no lilac. She was an   
oddball, just like his sister. Perhaps he'd picked up on that when he'd grabbed her from that roof.  
  
'Yeah, or perhaps you're still trying to explain how *you* could have screwed up so royally,' Zack   
thought. And he smirked.  
  
But, staring at the woman, across the table staring into her milk, it was hard to hold a smirk. She had   
regained a little of her color, but she still looked shaken. And so fragile… 'No wonder…you've probably   
scared the hell out of her,' Zack thought. Then he sat up straighter in his seat. Was that his fault? He was   
a soldier…not a babysitter. It was her fault, for being up on that roof in the first place. What the hell had   
she been thinking? And it was that guy, Logan's, fault, for not keeping a closer eye on his own.  
  
Okay…so it was Zack's fault, too. For not keeping a closer eye on *his* own; on Syl. He swore that, as   
soon as he found her, he'd court-martial her for this. Somehow. Which was kinda hard, since the both of   
them were AWOL. But he could send her somewhere nice and cold, at least. Or someplace nice and quiet.  
  
Zack wanted to smile, picturing Syl's face if he were to tell her she'd be relocated to Homish country. It   
was an amusing thought.  
  
Which was why Zack was caught so much by surprise when Max spoke to him again. That… And the fact   
of what she said.  
  
"What's your name?" she asked.  
  
"My name?" He looked at the woman as if she were crazy.  
  
"Yeah, you know, your name…your designation. The one your parents gave you," Max replied crossly. Ill   
health made her a little bolder than she'd been previously. And she didn't notice the way Zack's gaze   
sharpened at the word "designation" before he brushed a feeling of unwarranted suspicion away.  
  
"I don't have parents," he replied simply, instead.  
  
Max watched Zack's face as she spoke... "So you're an orphan?"   
  
…or, to be more exact, Max watched Zack's face as *he* squirmed.   
  
So they were swapping stories about their families, now? Yeah…that's something he wanted to do.  
  
"Why are you asking me this?" he asked her.  
  
Max shrugged. "Just trying to find out more about you. Seems only fair. You kidnapped me, so you must   
know everything about me. You know, from recon. Don't you people do that sort of thing?"  
  
Zack had to raise an eyebrow at that. "You people"? But he also had to grumble a little bit. Yeah, "his   
people" did do that sort of thing. Usually. Usually his kind of people had to know all there was to know   
about a situation before doing something risky. Like kidnapping some wealthy punk's girlfriend. Yet   
another reminder of Zack's unusual mistake.  
  
But Zack chose to ignore that issue, and instead took the opportunity to remind Max, yet again, that he did   
*not*, in fact, kidnap her. Or at least he hadn't planned to. But he didn't tell her that.  
  
He was surprised to see, at his response, tears gather in Max's eyes.  
  
It was just that it was so absurd. Max found it all so absurd. Everything was spinning out of control, with   
her seizures threatening to start up again… And here her kidnapper was, telling her he hadn't kidnapped   
her after all. So what was this…a road trip? Max could laugh, but she didn't find the situation particularly   
funny, so she found herself wanting to cry instead.  
  
"Are you okay?" Zack asked, quickly. Max nodded a little too quickly, as well.  
  
"I just…I…" Then she stood up, so fast the table shook. "I have to go to the bathroom," she announced.   
She started a beeline for the back of the diner, where the restrooms were located.  
  
"Wait."  
  
Zack followed Max back to the single women's restroom, pushing the small bathroom door open and   
peaking inside. No window. Good. He just had to make sure, to be safe. Then he stepped back, letting   
her through and pretending he didn't feel like a total ass for having to second guess her like this, while she   
was standing there avoiding his gaze and looking miserable.   
  
"Be fast," Zack told her, even so, though Max wouldn't realize that the harshness in his voice was directed   
towards himself and not her.  
  
Max nodded and went in, locking the door behind her.  
  
Zack went back to the table, to keep an eye on the restroom door from there, where he wouldn't look   
conspicuous.  
  
And he had no idea that, nearly twenty minutes later, when he would finally be forced to kick that door   
down, Max would be gone. 


	17. Chapter 17

The Story of Max Cale, Chapter 17  
by pari106  
  
[Disclaimer, etc. , found in chapter one.]  
  
A/N: Thanks for the nice feedback (to those of you have sent feedback :) Keep it   
coming!  
  
  
  
"Hey?"  
  
Zack wrapped his knuckles against the bathroom door for the fifth time in about ten   
minutes. This time he didn't return to his seat afterwards, as he had done twice before.   
Zack was not a patient man…and his impatience had just reached its peak.  
  
"Listen, if you don't answer me *right now*, I'm kicking this door down!" Zack   
threatened, his voice rising despite the stares he earned doing so. He'd been playing the   
concerned boyfriend role, but their fellow diners had stopped buying that act long ago.   
Which was just as well… Zack hated role-playing.   
  
"Okay…I'm coming in!" he called out.  
  
"Hey, you can't do that!" someone yelled from behind him. But Zack ignored the   
someone just as he'd ignored the "Sir, is everything alright?"s that had been thrown at his   
way before.  
  
With one kick, the bathroom door came down as gasps and general distress echoed   
around the nearly silent diner.   
  
Zack didn't find an unconscious woman lying on the floor. He'd considered the   
possibility that he would…taking into account the way Max had looked when she'd gone   
in.   
  
He'd considered the possibility for all of ten seconds.  
  
Now his doubts were confirmed. The bathroom was empty.  
  
'Shit…shitshitshit…' Zack cussed himself in his mind, then looked up…to where a large   
air vent in the ceiling was slightly askew.  
  
"Shit!" he cursed aloud then. He punched the wall, causing the plaster to crumble   
beneath his fist. The waitress and cook that had been behind him, trying to figure out   
what the hell was going on, jumped back. Obviously deciding they'd rather not know.  
  
Which was just as well…since Zack figured he'd caused a big enough scene already for   
one day. And he'd have an even bigger one on his hands if he didn't catch Max before   
she gave his description to the local authorities.  
  
Zack raced out the diner's door.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
'His name…couldn't you find anything else to talk about besides asking the guy his   
name?' Max was still berating herself silently, curled into a fetal position within an air   
duct just over the diner's kitchen.  
  
She was trying to escape a dangerous kidnapper, and she'd been trying to play twenty   
questions with the guy?  
  
'Way to go, Max,' she thought.  
  
In her own defense, Max assured herself that she'd only asked so that she'd have a name   
to go along with his description. The description she planned to pass on to Logan once   
this whole fiasco was finished. But to be honest, Max knew that had only been half her   
reasoning. The other half had been plain and simple curiosity about the man she was   
running from. She didn't like to admit it, but she actually felt disappointed that she   
hadn't gotten to know him better before it came time to make a break. There was   
something mysterious about him, obviously, but something familiar at the same time.   
Something she couldn't guess at defining.  
  
Just as she couldn't guess whether he would run to check the perimeter when he realized   
she was missing…or crawl up into the air duct with her. That was a problem. Because if   
he came up here and found her, what would she do then?  
  
'At least it's nice and cozy up here,' Max thought.  
  
The air ducts were large and relatively antique. The air conditioning in the diner had   
apparently broken down a long time ago, and the owner hadn't seen fit to fix it.   
Therefore the diner didn't have any AC or heating…which would be why all the doors   
and windows down in the main area were open. And which was why Max wasn't too   
cramped, too hot, or too cold. She was, however, about to choke on the thick dust filling   
the ducts.  
  
'And don't you have anything better to think about, right now, than the structural   
condition of this dump?'   
  
But Max had to think about something. Something to take her mind off the splitting pain   
in her temples. It had struck about the same time as the last seizure, which had taken   
over just as she'd pulled herself up through that air vent over the restroom. She'd barely   
gotten the vent back in place before the shaking had become too strong to control. Then   
Max had pulled herself as far through the ducts as she could manage and had curled up to   
ride the seizure out.   
  
On second thought, maybe running now hadn't been the wisest decision Max had ever   
made.  
  
She was hardly at her best. And she had a feeling that that was what it'd take to get away   
from the guy who'd grabbed her. And if her seizures got worse, before she got home,   
Max wasn't certain she'd be any safer around harmless strangers than she'd be around   
her kidnapper. No doctor would understand that her condition needed Triptophan for   
treatment. And even if they did, it wasn't like you could just pick the stuff up at the   
nearest Circle K.   
  
'At least Mr. Tall, Dark, and Deadly would know where to send the body if things got   
really bad,' Max thought wryly. Assuming he'd do her the service of sending her body   
home.  
  
Assuming the need for someone to do so would arise.  
  
"Not yet," Max mumbled aloud. She was only twenty years old. She guessed. And she   
planned to be around long enough to tease Logan about his hair going gray and to spoil   
his children.   
  
'You just gotta get down that vent, find a phone…call Logan or Bling…'  
  
Logan was gonna kill her for pulling this stunt. Hopefully. Because otherwise it would   
mean that Zack had taken care of the job first. Literally.  
  
Max had heard a lot of commotion down below, earlier, but occupied with her seizure,   
she hadn't been able to concentrate on what was happening. She was certain that,   
whatever had gone down, it had to have had something to do with a none-too-happy Mr.   
T, D, and D (having chosen that nickname for her mystery man, Max stuck to it). But   
now things were relatively quiet in the diner. Did that mean her kidnapper was gone?   
That he'd assumed she'd already left the diner and was looking for her elsewhere?  
  
'It'd better. You can't stay in this stupid hole forever.'  
  
Max carefully pulled herself up on her elbows over the vent. Peering down, she didn't   
see anyone beneath and, with still shaking hands, she pushed at the vent, assuming that it   
would take some effort to dislodge.  
  
Too bad she'd underestimated her own strength, even weakened by her seizure.  
  
Too bad said seizure had effected her reflexes as well, so that Max hadn't been able to   
catch herself when the vent, which she was lying almost entirely on top of, went crashing   
down.   
  
Too bad Max came crashing down with it, right on top of a large pot of clam chowder.   
  
Max *hated* clam chowder.  
  
Various persons from the diner rushed into the kitchen to see what was happening, and   
Max stood, with a sigh. Great. 'So my day's improving,' Max thought sarcastically.  
  
Then she stripped out of her now half black and half white sweater, audience or no   
audience. She was wearing a black tank top underneath anyhow.  
  
And she *really* hated clam chowder.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
He knew it. He fucking knew it.  
  
"I fucking knew it," Zack mumbled under his breath as he came out the diner's door. His   
eyes took in his surroundings faster and with more perception than the average human   
eye was capable of. He looked like a predator hunting its prey. And in a way…he   
supposed he was.   
  
Buy how far could a little human rich girl have gotten in…say, fifteen minutes?  
  
Plenty far. Just the same way a little human rich girl could get out of a windowless   
bathroom. Zack had known he should have down a better check of that restroom. But   
he'd underestimated his charge. Plain and simple, he'd taken it for granted that the posh   
Foggle Towers set weren't the type to play escape and evade.  
  
And he'd allowed himself to become preoccupied. To take Max's suddenly docile   
behavior for granted. Because he was so turned around by her that he couldn't think   
straight. Something about Max had been itching at the back of Zack's brain ever since   
he'd realized that she wasn't Syl. And in the diner it had only gotten worse.   
  
// "What's your name…You know? Your name. Your designation…" //  
  
Zack had made a tactical error, is what he'd done. Now for the second time. The third, if   
you counted how Max had escaped those ropes he'd tied her with. Zack still couldn't   
explain that one.  
  
And he was not happy with himself. As much as he lectured the others on always staying   
alert… On not making stupid mistakes… If word of this got out to the other X5s, there   
would be no end to Zack's suffering.  
  
He might even have to kill someone.  
  
Probably Zane or Krit or Oz; the ones who enjoyed ribbing Zack the most. And Zack   
would hate to have to eliminate any of them. After all the trouble he'd gone through,   
keeping their sorry asses safe and sound… Or reasonably sound. Zack was convinced   
that at least two of them were as nutty as a couple of fruitcakes. Whatever that was.  
  
"Shit!" he cursed himself, for not the first time.  
  
It was becoming a sort of mantra almost. Zack was really losing it.  
  
Which made his gaze all that much sharper as he calculated the odds of each direction   
Max could have run. It made Zack look all the more forbidding as he did so. A dark   
cloud of doom seemed to have settled above him.  
  
But the sun began to break through when Zack heard voices, through the open window,   
from the kitchen inside the diner. He just happened to have come around the front of the   
diner again, just in time to hear a loud crash followed by the voices.  
  
"Miss, are you alright?" they said.  
  
Maybe Zack wouldn't have to kill anyone after all.   
  
Maybe. 


	18. Chapter 18

The Story of Max Cale, chapter 18  
by pari106  
  
{Disclaimer, etc… You know the drill.}  
  
A/N: Thanks to those of you who've been reviewing :) Please keep it up!  
  
And to those of you who haven't: for shame! :( And as punishment I curse you with this mental image: Normal in a tiger-print thong. I hope you feel properly chastised now and mend your ways.  
  
And if I've just blinded your mind's eye I apologize ;)  
  
  
  
Chapter 18…  
  
  
  
Zack's message: Short; precise… Infinitely frustrating at the moment.  
  
It came over the phone via the shared messaging service Zack used to receive, send, and   
monitor communications with the other X5s under his command. It was followed by the   
obligatory beep, and the message, in Zack's voice, was: "You know what to do."  
  
Very Zack.  
  
"Actually, Zack," is all Syl said, as she resisted the urge to slam down the receiver, "I   
wouldn't be calling you if I did. Asshole." *Then* Syl slammed down the receiver.  
  
But that last part had been more for her own benefit than for Zack's. "Asshole" sounded   
pissed. And Syl would much rather be pissed than concerned. Which was what Syl was,   
now that a whole day or so had passed and she hadn't heard from Zack. She'd made very   
clear, in her last *three* messages, that making contact was urgent. She knew Zack   
checked his messages several times a day. Yet he still hadn't responded.   
  
Which was very *not* Zack.  
  
Syl hadn't yet vacated the phone booth she was calling from before her concern got the   
best of her.  
  
"You know what to do."  
  
"Hey, Zack…it's me. Again. Listen… This is really starting to worry me," Syl   
admitted, over the phone once again. "Forget everything else… Just call. Just so I know   
you're okay. Okay? Uh…okay. Bye, Zack."  
  
'I love you,' remained silent on Syl's lips.  
  
Also silent, was Syl's personal assurance that she would *kill* Zack if he'd gotten   
himself killed before she could tell him that she loved him in person. Or something.  
  
Syl left the phone booth more disturbed than she'd ever have liked to admit.  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
It was dark at this time, and Syl and Logan had parked outside a crappy looking little bar,   
in practically the middle of nowhere, so she could make her call.  
  
Actually, to be exact, *Syl* had parked outside the crappy looking little bar… Logan   
had just sat there in the passenger seat like Syl had told him to. Then Syl had handcuffed   
him to the steering wheel. And left him there.   
  
Logan hadn't put up much of a fuss when she did either. Of course, he'd been sleeping at   
the time… So that might have had something to do with it.  
  
And the pills Syl had slipped into Logan's drink, a couple of hours, ago, might have   
helped a bit, as well.  
  
Syl smirked as she headed back to the SUV from the phone booth on the side of the bar.   
  
'Stupid human,' she thought.   
  
You'd think that someone in league with a man like Don Lydecker would be a little more   
paranoid. Or at least that, sitting next to a transgenic that greatly wanted to injure him,   
Logan would have kept a closer eye on his drink.  
  
'Like those guys there," Syl thought in disgust as a small group of drunks stumbled out a   
side door to the bar. Very near her.  
  
Too near for Syl's tastes. With her unnaturally sharp sense of smell, the stench of liquor,   
sweat, and filth that surrounded the men was almost incapacitating. And the need to do   
mischief was almost just as palpable. The creeps took one look at Syl and she could tell,   
just by looking at them peripherally, that they were gonna be trouble.   
  
'Idle hands…,' and all that. Especially idle hands clutching bottles of cheap beer and   
whiskey.  
  
Then the catcalls began.  
  
'Catcalls…' Syl thought with a smirk. 'How appropriate.'  
  
"Well, what do we have here?"…"Hey, baby what're you doing out here out by   
yourself?"… "Want a little company?"… "Now, don't be like that…"  
  
Blah blah blah.  
  
Syl tried to be a good little transgenic and dissuade her so-called "company" from   
coming any closer. Then she tried to ignore the little shits, but when they formed what   
she would have called a perimeter (had she thought they were capable of thinking in   
terms with more than one syllable) around her… Well, Syl didn't have to be prodded too   
far into a confrontation. On a good day she enjoyed a good fight.   
  
And today had not been a good day.   
  
"Come on, sweetie, let's just stop and talk a bit…" Slime-ball #1 said in what, Syl   
assumed, he considered a seductive manner.  
  
She smiled. "Yes, let's," she replied.  
  
But, as has been established, talking never was one of Syl's strong suits.  
  
So she started smacking the men around a little instead. She seemed to be doing things   
like that a lot lately.  
  
'I needed the exercise anyhow,' Syl thought, moments later, when all the men lay either   
unconscious or clutching themselves in agony.  
  
Which is when a problem arose.  
  
"Hey! What the hell is this?"   
  
A man was coming around the corner of the bar wearing a bartender's apron, and being   
trailed by another small group of men. This group was sober, unlike the last. And this   
group had just been told, by one of the men Syl hadn't realized had creeped away while   
she was beating the crap out of his buddies, that there was some strange girl outside who   
just happened to be kicking the asses of five large men. All by herself.   
  
'Oh, shit.'  
  
Syl began to drop back into a defensive position, when a hand on her shoulder both   
tensed and stilled her. She hadn't even realized it, but Logan had suddenly appeared at   
her side.   
  
The men from their bar reached their position, and the bartender took in the scene around   
them; the men lying on the ground. A small crowd had begun to file out of the bar.   
Wasn't often that Post-Pulse Americans got entertainment, like that of a "little girl"   
beating up a bunch of men, for free.   
  
Logan looked at the bartender, and in an angry, serious tone of voice said: "I'll tell you   
what the hell this is." His grip on Syl's shoulder tightened.  
  
Syl looked from the crowd to him and back.  
  
'And I repeat…Oh, shit…'  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Syl, for all intense purposes, was frozen where she stood as her mind whirred, trying to   
decide what to do next.  
  
The bartender and his cronies she could manage…  
  
Pretty rich boy she could manage… She couldn't figure why he was standing here and   
not still snoozing in his car…but she could manage.  
  
But a crowd…  
  
Hell, she could probably manage them, too. For a while. Syl had the element of surprise   
on her hands, after all. But things would get messy. And dirty. And probably painful.   
And just generally *not* fun all the way around.   
  
And damage control for tactical exposure like this would be a bitch. With puppies.  
  
But before Syl could think much more about that, Logan was talking and Syl felt her   
stomach turn. 'Okay…here it comes…'  
  
"Who are you?" the bartender had asked.  
  
And that's when Logan said "I'm this woman's husband. Who the hell are you? And   
just where the hell were you while these punks were harassing my wife?"  
  
Syl's jaw dropped so far she could have sworn she felt it hit her racing heart.  
  
Logan reached over, and with the expression of a man terribly concerned for - and   
fiercely protective of - his mate, gently tipped Syl's chin so that her mouth closed.  
  
"She's still shaken up," he explained to the disbelieving crowd before them.  
  
'God, let this work,' he thought. 


	19. Chapter 19

The Story of Max Cale, chapter 19  
by pari106  
  
{…chapter one…blah blah blah…}  
  
  
  
Chapter Nineteen…  
  
  
  
" 'Husband'?…" The bartender looked to the man who'd gone snitching on Syl and then   
back to Logan. "I didn't hear anything about anyone harassing anyone's wife," he said.   
"Eddie here said somebody was out here causing trouble, attacking my customers."   
Eddie nodded, hanging slightly behind the bartender and staring at Syl with wide eyes.  
  
"Yeah. We didn't know she was some guy's wife!"  
  
Like that made harassing a woman okay. Like that would have deterred Eddie or any of   
his friends if they had known Syl was "married". If Logan didn't think it would hurt his   
cause to roll his eyes, he would have.   
  
"Does it matter?" he asked instead, feigning husbandly fury. Actually, it wasn't all that   
hard to do. Logan felt the adrenaline rushing through his body and knew he was almost   
halfway to furious, husband or not. "Six guys hit on a woman, she makes it clear that   
she's not interested, and they pursue the matter. That's harassment, any way you look at   
it."  
  
"Hey, we didn't hit on nobody!" Eddie exclaimed. "We were just minding our own   
business. *She* attacked *us*!"  
  
"Why, you little shi…" Recovering from her shock, Syl took a menacing step towards   
Eddie, as he took a step back with a frightened squeak. But Logan grabbed Syl by the   
arm, holding her back. In any case, laughter and small, disbelieving "Yeah, right!"s   
started to echo through the crowd as certain customers, who were apparently familiar   
with (as Syl liked to think of him) "little shit" and his friends, decided there was nothing   
unusual to see here.   
  
"You actually believe that?" Logan said, covering for Syl's outburst as he silently willed   
her to act like a damsel-in-distress. Fat chance. Syl didn't play the distressed damsel role   
very well. At the moment, the look in her eyes was more like the type you'd see in a   
dragon's, right as it was about to eat a small group of townspeople.   
  
Thinking of that analogy didn't make Logan comfortable with the odds that they were   
gonna get out of this situation smoothly.  
  
"It's true!" Eddie yelled, in the meantime. "She beat the hell out of Rodney, just look at   
him!" He motioned to one of the men lying prone on the ground. For the most part, they   
were all still out for the count, but Logan could see that a couple were coming close to   
stirring.  
  
'Shit…shit…shit…,' Syl thought, seeing the same thing.   
  
Logan laughed, hoping the sound came off as incredulous, as he'd intended. "Oh, come   
on!" He looked to the bartender, as if seeking for a sane person amongst madmen. "This   
kid's wasted!" he said, continuing his act.   
  
"Just look at him!" Eddie repeated. "She could have killed somebody!" For all his   
professed concern, however, Syl noticed how Eddie made no move to help any of his   
friends, or to check how badly they'd been hurt.  
  
"I should be so lucky," she mumbled so that the men couldn't hear. Logan did, though,   
and gave her a sharp glare.  
  
"I had to defend my wife's honor," he said, sounding indignant.  
  
'Oh, please!' Syl hoped she looked upset, biting her lip…rather than like she was trying   
not to laugh, like she was. Hey, this was kinda fun… Maybe she'd let Logan play the   
thing out. Syl put on her best 'I'm-so-frightened/protect-me,-you-big,-strong-man'   
expression…and tried not to be nauseous.   
  
Logan did a double take when he saw it and looked at Syl like she'd grown horns.  
  
"He didn't do crap!" Eddie claimed. "It was the woman! She's like…some kind of   
freak, or something…"  
  
Logan sensed Syl stiffening at his side, and saw her expression go blank through the   
corner of his eye. It took some effort to keep his hands from balling into fists.  
  
"She's got, like, super strength!" Eddie continued.  
  
But apparently Logan and Syl had been successful in discrediting the guy's charges,   
because more and more of the crowd that had gathered outside the bar were going back to   
their drinks, throwing caustic remarks his way. Logan relaxed, just slightly. Eddie,   
pathetic excuse for humanity though he was, looked like he wanted to cry. He eyed Syl   
the way a small chicken eyes a chicken hawk.  
  
"Do we really have to listen to him babble?" Logan asked.   
  
"You expect us to believe you took on these five guys all by yourself?" a man standing to   
the other side of the bartender asked snidely. He looked Logan over with a smirk. Being   
about a head taller than himself, Logan supposed he felt he had the inclination. Although   
that didn't make Logan any less insulted.  
  
"Someone's got more testosterone than brain matter," Syl muttered, again under her   
breath.  
  
Logan glanced over at her in surprise.  
  
"And you think I did?" Syl went on, in a voice loud enough for the other men to hear.   
She tried to make her tone nice and docile, and cowered next to Logan's side. 'Look   
intimidating,' she willed him silently. If "intimidating" was an achievable look for   
Logan. "Damned sexy", perhaps… Okay, so there was no 'perhaps' about it…  
  
'Focus, you idiot!' Syl thought. 'What the hell are you thinking?'   
  
Syl's words made the men stop and think. They'd come out here on the word of a known   
alcoholic and troublemaker, after all.  
  
"What are you going to do about this?" Logan demanded.   
  
The bartender drew himself up and narrowed his eyes. "Me?"  
  
"Yeah, you. You run this establishment?" Logan asked.  
  
"Yeah, so."  
  
"So a woman was very nearly attacked on your property. Don't you think we ought to   
call the police?"  
  
At the mention of the authorities, the crime scene cleared quickly and Syl had to try not   
to laugh. Logan's lips felt suspiciously close to twitching, as well. Even 'testosterone   
guy' beat it, leaving only a few people besides Logan, Syl, the bartender – looking very   
uncomfortable – and Eddie, looking panicked.  
  
"Hey, now. We don't really need to involve the cops," he sniveled.  
  
The bartender rolled his eyes and sighed.  
  
"Okay, okay…" he said. Eddie looked at him frightened. "Get your ass home," the   
bartender told him. "Little shit" didn't move. "I said beat it! I ain't callin' the cops, so   
get outta my site before I change my mind. And take your brother with you."  
  
Finally, Eddie complied, helping one of the men, who was now just about coming to   
(Logan and Syl guessed he was the "Rodney" Eddie had mentioned earlier), to his feet.  
  
"Wha…"  
  
"Shut up, man! Let's get outta here!"  
  
Logan watched the pair leave, with a smile. The other men who'd hung around helped   
Syl's other "victims" to their feet and around the bar. Logan wiped his face clean when   
the bartender turned back to them.  
  
"You're not calling the cops?" he asked in outrage. 'Oh, thank you, God…'  
  
"Hey, I'm not responsible for your wife's safety. This is a bar, not a tearoom. Seems to   
me a pretty little thing like her wouldn't be hanging around places like this if she weren't   
looking for trouble."  
  
Logan's eyes narrowed and Syl's widened. "Hey!"  
  
"Maybe you oughtta worry more about taking care of your wife and less about causing   
trouble for other people," the bartender suggested in a threatening tone, as if Syl weren't   
even there. He gave the couple a meaningful look. Then turned to go back in the bar.  
  
"You slimy son of a …"  
  
Logan's hand, still on Syl's arm, kept her from doing anything rash – like chasing down   
that barkeep and showing him some *real* trouble - since Syl knew, even as angry as she   
was, that that would be just plain stupid. But she really wished it wouldn't as the   
bartender threw one last look over his shoulder and disappeared around the corner.   
  
After a moment of silence, and a breath of relief, Syl finally found the ability to smile, a   
warped, bitter little smile.  
  
"Aw, humanity…makes me glad I'm not a full member of the club," she said. "Can't   
you just feel the love around here?"  
  
Then she turned to Logan, and saw the dark look on his face. "What's your pr…"  
  
Syl didn't get to finish her sentence before Logan interrupted with: "What the hell were you   
thinking?"  
  
"What do you mean, what the hell was I…"   
  
And she didn't get to finish that sentence either. Because then Logan interrupted…with a   
kiss. 


	20. Chapter 20

The Story of Max Cale  
by Pari106  
  
[Disclaimer in chapter one.]  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty….  
  
  
  
Syl didn't push him away when Logan kissed her. She couldn't rightly say *why*…  
  
Except maybe it was shock (?) that made her go still when she felt Logan's lips on her   
own. The shock of being kissed at that particular moment, particularly because she was   
being kissed by him, of all people. And being kissed so well.  
  
Or maybe Syl didn't push Logan away for the simple reason that she couldn't.   
Sure…logically, she knew that she *could*. But she certainly didn't feel like it, with   
Logan's strong hands framing each side of her face; with her back suddenly pressed   
against the wall of the bar behind them. With Logan suddenly pressed against her.   
  
Maybe that's why she kissed him back.  
  
Either way, it wasn't long before sanity returned. To Logan. Though it would have been   
very unwise to remind Syl of such.  
  
So Logan pulled back, blinking, as he realized what he'd just done. And acting as though   
it hadn't happened because he hadn't yet realized why he'd done it.  
  
"What the hell were you thinking?" he repeated from before.  
  
Logan tried to express a little of the anger he'd felt earlier, though most of it had abated   
the moment his lips had met Syl's. And he told himself that the disorientation he felt   
instead came from the quick rush of adrenaline that had run through his system during his   
and Syl's confrontation with those men. Not from what had to have been the most   
exciting kiss of his life.  
  
Syl hadn't quite caught on to all of this. She heard Logan speak and thought, 'What?'  
  
"What?" she asked aloud, eyes half-lidded.  
  
"Fighting six guys," Logan reminded her, eyebrows raised, as if she were insane for   
having forgotten. "You could have gotten hurt."  
  
Syl laughed. She realized later she probably shouldn't have, but she did.  
  
"This is serious," Logan said, frowning.  
  
"Well, excuse me," Syl replied, raising *her* eyebrows in a mimicry of Logan. "But I'm   
not the one who'll spend the next week getting *real* intimate with an icepack, if you   
know what I mean." Syl smiled. "They will."  
  
Logan was not amused.  
  
"Stop being so melodramatic," Syl said finally, starting to frown herself.  
  
Her words were so reminiscent of the ones Max had spoken, before that time she'd gotten   
herself shot, that it gave Logan the chills.  
  
"Figures you'd say that," he mumbled to himself. Wondering why suddenly he *was*   
just the slightest bit amused.  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" Syl demanded, putting her hands on her hips. And she   
glared, voice rising. She suddenly remembered exactly where they were…and exactly   
who she was talking to. "And why are we having this conversation? Do you even care   
what happens to me?"  
  
'Why the hell am I getting the 3rd degree for a little bar fight? Why the hell did you help   
me get out of it? Why did you kiss me?'  
  
"Of course I do," Logan replied instantly.  
  
"Oh, really, why?" Syl challenged.  
  
She saw Logan's face go blank and changed her mind. "On second thought, don't tell me   
why." For all she knew, he was planning to sell her to ol' Lydecker and his cronies.  
  
'No use turning in damaged goods, right?' she thought snidely.  
  
She had no idea that Logan's face had gone blank at her question because he'd just been   
asking himself the same thing.  
  
"The point is," Syl continued, going back to their "conversation", "It's not like I started   
it. I could have done without that little display of chauvinistic stupidity we just   
witnessed, tonight of all nights."  
  
"Well, you were the one who drove us here," Logan reminded her, again in that oh-so-  
reasonable tone that made Syl grit her teeth. "You couldn't have chosen some place a   
little more…clean to stop for a drink?"  
  
Syl could have hit him.  
  
"I'm sorry, some of us can't afford to sip our high-priced martinis in posh cabarets."  
  
Logan crossed his arms.  
  
"Besides," Syl went on, "I wasn't going for a drink." 'Why am I telling him this?' "I   
had to make a phone call."  
  
"A phone call?" Logan's voice rose in pitch. "And that couldn't have waited till the next   
town?"  
  
"No!"  
  
"A phone call to who?"  
  
This time it was Syl who crossed her arms.  
  
"I'm not exactly obligated to tell you that, now am I?" Finally tired of this argument, she   
pulled out her piece. 'It's been fun and all, but…' "I'm the one with the gun,   
remember?" Funny how she'd forgotten that herself, faced with a small crowd of   
potential threat. Yet with Logan she suddenly felt inclined to bring out the artillery.  
  
"I'm the one in charge," Syl said confidently. Until Logan casually, almost off-handedly,   
pushed the gun – and the out-stretched arm to which it was attached – to the side. Syl's   
jaw dropped for the second time that night. But Logan didn't even notice as he spoke.  
  
"I'm the one who just saved your ass…*remember*?"  
  
Syl's eyes narrowed. "Oh, please! I could have handled that!"  
  
"Yeah, by beating people up!"  
  
"So?"  
  
"So," Logan told her slowly, "that doesn't help anything." He enunciated each word as   
though speaking to a child.  
  
It was so frustrating to Syl she nearly pouted. "Funny…" she began. And Logan got the   
privilege of seeing how pretty Syl can be in a pout…before she punched him. "Works   
for me," she finished.  
  
Logan, from his new vantage point on the ground, rubbing his jaw, looked up as Syl   
stepped over him, hiding her gun once more as she crouched low to say: "Get back to the   
car." She nudged him in the hip with the toe of her boot.  
  
'That's gratitude for you,' Logan thought, remaining silent as he followed a very angry   
Syl back to his SUV.  
  
'And why do I get the feeling my night isn't about to get any better?'  
  
  
  
**** ****  
  
  
  
Standing in the middle of a kitchen that hadn't seen a mop probably since the day she'd   
been born, with the nauseating smell of clam chowder and the drone of a dozen   
bystanders surrounding everything, Max couldn't imagine a situation that could be much   
worse.  
  
Until a worse scenario presented itself…and Zack showed up.  
  
Max heard him before she saw him. Running through the diner's front door and leaping   
over the front counter, as onlookers gasped. Max, like a deer caught in the headlights,   
froze as Zack stopped, just inside the kitchen.  
  
And then she panicked. And as one often does, in a panic, she used the only weapon at   
her disposal.  
  
A clam chowder soaked sweater.  
  
She threw it straight at Zack's head. And Zack, being unused to attacks made by   
women's garments soaked in soup, ducked, eyes wide, as the sweater flew over him.   
"What the hell?" he asked.  
  
Little white droplets landed on his shoulders and in his hair.  
  
But there was little time to worry about that as Max dashed out a back door. And the   
chase was on.  
  
Unfortunately, weak from her seizure and having been cramped in an air duct for nearly   
half an hour, Max wasn't quite sure "dash" was the correct word for what she was doing.   
But she did her best, which, weak or cramped or not, was considerable for a "human".   
By the time Max heard Zack's boots hit the pavement she was already across the parking   
lot. She headed in the direction opposite the motel and Zack's van, which led across a   
highway and to a little gas station beyond. Max kept her eyes on it. Watching the traffic   
around her only peripherally as she ran. She could feel her temples beginning to pound   
anew and a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach was growing; one suspiciously similar to   
the start of another seizure.  
  
Certainly she couldn't be having one again; so soon. But, then, that's what she'd thought   
before.  
  
Fear made Max run even faster…and Zack, as well. Not just in order to catch her, but to   
keep her from getting herself killed sprinting across the four-laned highway. Horns   
honked, and Zack cringed as the girl in front of him weaved through cars like she thought   
she was invincible. Or like she wasn't thinking at all. 'Blue Lady…'  
  
"Look out!" he yelled once, as Max came almost too close to a truck that swerved, barely   
avoiding her. It seemed like forever before she reached the other side of the road.   
  
And Zack, behind her, didn't realize that it was a seizure that caused her to crumple when   
she did. A van passed between them, and a car just slightly behind it, and Zack couldn't   
see whether or not she'd been hit. He only saw Max hit her knees, in the dirt at the side   
of the pavement, then roll down the slope at that side, to the parking lot of the gas station   
below. His genetically engineered heart leapt in his chest.  
  
"Fuck…"  
  
He didn't even look at the next vehicle that passed, right in front of him; just leapt over it   
on his way. The passengers inside, and the driver, nearly crashed, craning their necks to   
see what the hell had just flown over them.   
  
Max was lying, crumpled on her side, when Zack reached her.  
  
"What the fuck were you thinking!" he demanded, as he dropped to his knees, rolling   
Max over. His voice was less threatening and more threatened than he would have liked,   
and adrenaline was pulsing through him at the thought that he'd caused the woman with   
him to get herself killed.  
  
But then Zack saw that Max's eyes were open, and noticed the lack of blood in her   
general vicinity.  
  
He looked at her in surprise. 'What the hell?'  
  
That's when the shaking started, so strong Max nearly came off the ground when it first   
hit her.  
  
"Whoa!"  
  
Zack grabbed her, holding her down, and not really knowing what else he was supposed   
to do.  
  
"What's wrong?" he asked Max quickly. Max, staring up at him, didn't seem able to tell   
him right away. But she tried to force words past her chattering teeth. Then…  
  
"Hey! Stop that!"  
  
Zack went tense when he heard the voice behind him. An elderly couple was walking   
towards him from their car, parked a short distance away.  
  
"What are you doing there?" the man called again, looking from Max to Zack and back.   
'Great,' Zack thought. He tried to plaster on his best 'good 'ol boy' smile and turned to   
the couple as they neared.  
  
"Hello, sir. Ma'am," he said. "Everything's okay. My wife's just a little ill, that's all."  
  
The couple stopped about a foot away; suspicion on the man's face, the woman cowering   
behind him.  
  
"Mark, let's just leave them alone," Zack heard the woman whisper to her husband.  
  
All the same, "Mark" asked: "What's wrong?"  
  
Good intentioned though he might be, Zack felt irritation at the stranger's intrusiveness,   
and was about to answer his question, when Max answered it for him.  
  
"Seizures," she managed weakly; shakily.  
  
Zack looked at her sharply.  
  
"Seizure?" the man asked. And his wife seemed to relax, just a little, as pity replaced   
distrust as she looked at Max.   
  
"Does she need to get to a hospital?" she asked. Zack would have smiled. These were   
probably two of the last good Samaritans left in the Post-Pulse world…and he just had to   
run into them when the last thing he needed was a couple of good Samaritans.   
  
Again Zack began to speak. He'd originally planned to take Max home and decide how   
much damage control was necessary. As much as he wasn't looking forward to what that   
might very well entail. But now he wondered if he should rather turn her over to this   
couple and go on ahead. To arrange a little "talk" with her boyfriend and find out how   
much he knew. She'd certainly be safer with her own kind, not to mention with a doctor,   
in her condition. Whatever that was. Seizures… Not only had he kidnapped a rich   
man's girlfriend in Syl's place… He'd kidnapped a rich man's *epileptic* girlfriend.   
  
At least Zack assumed she was epileptic. Though something about all of this started that   
itching at the back of his brain all over again. The seizure…the milk… But that was   
impossible. Wasn't it?  
  
"I…"  
  
Zack was just about to say yes when Max surprised him by answering yet again.  
  
"No!" she cried out emphatically, suddenly grabbing his arm. "No hospitals," she   
managed to say.  
  
She was scared. Really scared. No less scared of Zack than she had been, of course. But   
every fear her parents had ever implanted in her mind about strange doctors and revealing   
her condition came flooding Max's mind as her seizure continued and panic set in. She   
was suddenly desperate to avoid visiting a strange doctor, and so instinctively – somehow   
– turned to Zack. Why, she didn't know. But she wasn't in the state of mind conducive   
to considering the matter.  
  
Mark and his wife looked concerned, but Zack, who'd been watching Max intently, had   
suddenly made a decision.  
  
"I think she'll be okay," he said, looking up. "Has these things all the time. She just   
needs to take her pills and get a little rest," Zack continued, falling back into the role he'd   
adopted before.  
  
He didn't really know what was going on. But he knew desperation when he saw it, and   
there it was – in Max's eyes.  
  
And she'd turned to him. Him. She'd been running from Zack, yet now she was looking   
to him as if for protection. From this nice old couple? She looked at them like they were   
the e…  
  
The enemy.  
  
"Are you sure…"  
  
"Please," Max whispered, so low only Zack could hear. Her grip on his arm tightened   
and was considerable, he noted. 'I just want to go home,' Max thought. 'Take me   
home.'  
  
"We'll be fine," Zack said, hoping he sounded friendly and reassuring.  
  
"What were you doing, running across the highway like that, anyhow?" Mark asked Max.  
  
"Panicked," she claimed weakly. Her shakes seemed to be subsiding, just slightly, but   
she was exhausted and barely keeping her eyes open.  
  
"We could use a ride back to our van, though.. If you don't mind," Zack told the couple,   
hoping that if he let them do *something* they would be satisfied and leave them be.  
  
"Of course," the woman replied, both for herself and her husband, giving the man a   
meaningful look. One that said not to ask more questions that didn't want to be   
answered.  
  
"Over this way," Mark said finally. Not quite looking pleased with the situation, but   
complying anyhow. He motioned to his and his wife's vehicle and Zack scooped Max up   
in his arms. Max's arms went around his neck and Zack looked down at her flushed face,   
feeling something unfamiliar when he saw the look in her large, brown eyes.  
  
Something like tenderness.  
  
"No…doctors…" she repeated.  
  
"No doctors," Zack agreed, not loud enough for the others to hear, as he and Max joined   
them. "I'll take care of you," he promised. He meant it. And his arms tightened around   
Max as the car started and began to move. 


	21. Chapter 21

The Story of Max Cale  
  
[Disclaimer, etc. , found in chapter 1.]  
  
  
  
Chapter Twenty-One…  
  
  
  
It wasn't that Syl had *no* personal skills whatsoever.  
  
Because she did. Really.  
  
She just chose to use them very rarely. She refused to acknowledge the possibility that   
this facet of her personality came from being born and bred at Manticore… Rather, Syl   
preferred to think of herself as the "quiet type". When she wasn't blowing things up or   
kicking ass. Which did happen, occasionally.  
  
But even what few personal, conversational, whatever skills Syl had, seemed to vanish   
when it came time to ask Logan the questions she needed to ask him. Granted, she   
could just beat the answers out of him, like she'd originally planned… But it had been a   
long day. Syl was tired…she had a headache. Zack still hadn't responded to her   
continuous messages. And, damn it, she wasn't Jondy, or Max, or Dem. She needed   
sleep. Sleep she wasn't gonna get with Mr. Logan Cale sitting in her passenger seat.   
His passenger seat. Whatever. All she wanted to do was cuddle up into a little ball and   
doze off. And as appealing as the word "cuddle" sounded, to Syl, next to the name   
"Logan"…despite the situation… That wasn't gonna happen. She'd decided beating   
the hell out of him wasn't going to happen.   
  
So where did that leave them? Needing to talk. Syl didn't even know where to begin.   
She'd confronted…okay, captured…Logan after his talk with Deck, considering him the   
enemy. But after everything that had happened since then, she had to wonder about her   
immediate assessment. She still didn't trust him… But she did wonder about Logan's   
intentions.  
  
If he was just after Syl to sell her back to Manticore, or wherever the fuck else Logan   
had decided to sell her, why hadn't he made the call to turn in their location while he'd   
had the chance; when Syl had been roughing up those perverts outside that bar?   
Assuming, of course, that he *hadn't*. Assuming that Manticore, or someone equally   
unpleasant, wasn't trailing them at that exact moment. And being reeeally slow about it.  
  
Better yet, why hadn't Logan gotten away while he'd had the chance? Syl's immediate   
reaction, after the fiasco at the bar, was to think that Logan had only helped her in order   
to protect his "goods"; namely, her. But after thinking about it a while, Syl wasn't so   
sure. There was no way that pathetic crowd of losers could have messed her up bad   
enough to hurt Logan's take, assuming that he was after one.   
  
Maybe she had the wrong idea about everything that was going on. Maybe she should   
give Logan that chance to speak he kept talking about.  
  
Maybe Syl was even more exhausted than she'd thought.  
  
Or, maybe, the caffeine was starting to get to her.  
  
Syl took a swig of her third R&B in about as many tens of minutes. Nah…  
  
It couldn't be the caffeine.  
  
She heard a muffled groan, coming from just below and to the right of her, and smirked.  
  
"What's wrong, hubby?" Syl asked, alluding back to their short, faked stint as Mr. and   
Mrs. "Can't sleep?"  
  
The groaning, tossing, and turning that had been going on abruptly stopped. Logan's   
voice replied, still muffled yet clearly agitated.  
  
"Could you sleep well in a trunk?" he demanded. Yeah. She could sleep standing up if   
she put her mind to it. But that was neither here nor there…  
  
"Be happy I left it open," Syl told him, reaching over to push the trunk lid so that it   
wobbled up and down. They'd ditched Logan's SUV at a roadside a few clicks down,   
and had stolen the jalopy they currently "owned" from a RV park. "This way you can   
breathe. And you don't have to roll around in…*whatever* that is in the back seat."   
Syl was lying between the trunk and the back windshield, so that her weight wasn't   
keeping the trunk shut, but so that Logan couldn't climb out without her knowing it,   
either. She peered down through the glass at her side and made a face.  
  
Inside the trunk, Logan snorted.   
  
"Yeah. Thanks," he deadpanned. Syl smiled. If she didn't know better, she'd swear   
she was starting to like this guy.   
  
Then Syl frowned. 'No I'm not.'  
  
"Somebody's grumpy without their leg room," Syl said aloud, to take her mind   
off…well, the things her mind was on.  
  
"It's cold," Logan insisted, sounding suspiciously close to whining.  
  
Another smirk graced his transgenic companion's face.  
  
"Well…if you hadn't been in such a hurry to get your clothes off in front of me, maybe   
you wouldn't be feeling quite such a draft right now."  
  
Logan snorted yet again. "It's not like I had a choice, you know," he said.  
  
Syl shrugged. "Of course you did." But her eyes and smile were full of mischief.  
  
"No…I didn't. I only took my coat off. And only because there was a mean, ugly dog   
attached to it."  
  
Syl bit her lip to contain a laugh. That wasn't entirely correct…Logan had taken his   
coat off. *And* the dog had taken about a third of the right side of his shirt off, as well.   
It was a good thing he'd had another change of clothes with him in the SUV.   
Unfortunately, he hadn't brought another coat. They'd left the one he'd been wearing   
back at the RV park with the Fido from hell.  
  
"Well, you shouldn't have messed with the mean, ugly dog's ice cooler. That's   
probably why his owners chained him out there, you know. To ward off would-be   
thieves."  
  
Logan's voice couldn't be more irritated or more incredulous.  
  
"Well, you can't very well call it 'warding off thieves' if said thief…and I was not   
"thieving", by the way…can't even see the damned dog," Logan said in his own   
defense. "Who the hell digs a dog a trench beneath an RV so the thing can lie in wait?"  
  
Syl looked up to the half-finished six pack sitting on the roof of the car. She tossed her   
now empty can into the bushes and grabbed another. "Someone who really values their   
root-beer, I'd say," she told him, popping the top.  
  
She hated root beer, and made a face as the liquid hit her tongue. But caffeine is   
caffeine… So Syl didn't complain. Besides, it wasn't like she'd had much of a   
selection to chose from. And Logan had done the selecting. She'd ordered him to swipe   
that cooler next to one of the RVs in the RV park where they'd also acquired their new   
wheels. That's where he'd found the dog. Or where the dog had found him.  
  
But it wasn't Syl's fault. Well…it kinda was. But she'd been *really* thirsty. And Syl   
became very unpleasant when she was thirsty and in need of a caffeine fix. And after   
that whole debacle at the bar, she hadn't wanted to stop at a convenience store or gas   
station.   
  
Besides, why pay for much needed caffeine when she could just swipe some instead. Or   
have Logan swipe some for her.   
  
"It was your idea to take the cooler in the first place," Logan charged. "Was that really   
necessary?"  
  
Syl's eyes narrowed. "Yes," she replied, vehemently. Her caffeine addiction was no   
petty matter.   
  
"You're the genetically engineered soldier…why couldn't you have gotten the damned   
cooler if you wanted it that badly?"  
  
Funny… Logan almost sounded…perturbed. He'd never looked perturbed whenever   
Syl had watched him before. But then, she often had that effect on people.  
  
Syl shrugged. "We weren't designed for menial tasks." Logan didn't say anything to   
that.   
  
And Syl made up her mind. If they needed to talk, then they would talk. They'd been   
talking for about ten minutes, already, and that hadn't gone so badly… Right?  
  
Besides, there was no time like the present. Syl didn't want to be parked at the rest stop   
where they'd parked any longer than necessary. And maybe if she and Logan had their   
little talk, she'd feel less uncomfortable with the thought of getting back on the road, as   
close as she was to falling asleep.  
  
Or maybe she'd find out that all her initial fears were correct. And then she'd shoot   
him.  
  
Either way…  
  
Syl jumped off the car, and pulled open the trunk lid. Inside, Logan lay on his back   
looking up at her.  
  
"Get out," she told him, standing back. Logan just looked at her, then blinked.  
  
"You're going to kill me now, aren't you?" The question was spoken conversationally,   
almost congenially. Syl smiled.  
  
"Uh-huh," she replied, happily.  
  
Logan climbed out of the trunk.  
  
  
  
"So…talk."  
  
Syl leaned back against the tree they'd parked by, arms crossed over her chest. She'd   
helped herself, as well, to the clothes Logan had brought with him for his little trip to   
Gillette; she'd changed out of the black clothes she'd been wearing – and had torn in   
that fight outside the bar – and into one of his white dress shirts. Along with a pair of   
jeans and a denim jacket she'd liberated from yet another RV at the park. Those places   
were veritable shopping centers… If you "shopped" the way Syl did.   
  
Logan winced, imagining the damage Syl must have done to the expensive fabric by   
rolling up the sleeves and tying the front around her waist as she had. Doing so allowed   
him to *not* concentrate on the fact that there was a woman standing in front of him,   
wearing an article of his clothing. And wearing it *well*, despite the fact that the shirt   
was sizes too big for Syl.  
  
"What about?" Logan asked, knowing the question was absolutely absurd, but acting as   
if he hadn't realized this, arms crossed in front of his chest the way Syl's were. He sat   
on the bumper of the car. After all…it really was cold out there. It had been a long day;   
he had a headache. He had no idea where they were, at this point. And he was   
shaky…whether from lack of sleep, lack of food…or the woman wearing his shirt,   
Logan wasn't sure.   
  
Syl raised an eyebrow and rolled her eyes.   
  
"I don't know…how the Lakers are doin' this season, maybe," she quipped, harshly.   
  
Logan didn't even bat an eye. "Lousy. And I had good money on the last two games,   
too." Syl's eyes narrowed…and Logan moved on when he saw the threat there.  
  
"I thought you'd already drawn your own conclusions about why I was meeting General   
Lydecker," he said, knowing that was what Syl was really asking about.  
  
She shrugged. "I did." She pushed off the tree to walk closer to him. "But I'm   
wondering, if you came out here to Wyoming to sell out me or mine…then why are we   
here right now, on the side of the road?" Before Logan could reply, Syl, now standing   
in front of him, continued. "Why didn't you call in the troops during that whole fiasco   
at the bar? Or better yet…why not have them waiting at the roadside where you and ol'   
Deck had so much to chit-chat about?" Syl's eyes were on Logan's face and her gaze   
was piercing. "You knew I was there," she charged.  
  
Logan had expected accusations, of course. That's all he'd gotten since he'd met this   
strange, startling woman - silent accusations and very verbal threats. But this accusation   
wasn't one of the many he'd expected Syl to verbalize.  
  
Which was neither here nor there, since Logan had given up trying to determine what   
exactly he *should* expect in Syl's company. He hadn't expected her to show up into   
his life, trying to rob his penthouse and then spying on him from a rooftop, night after   
night for so long. He hadn't expected her to follow him to Wyoming. He hadn't   
expected to find her beating the crap out of a bunch of scumbags outside that bar in the   
middle of the night. He hadn't expected to nearly get his ass bitten off stealing a pack of   
root beer Syl didn't even seem to be enjoying.   
  
And Logan hadn't expected Syl to just jump into this conversation. He'd expected her   
to feel him out first…see exactly what he knew and how he knew it, and then figure out   
what to do about all of that. But apparently Syl couldn't be bothered with such   
formalities. If this was any sign of how well the X5s' military training had stuck over   
the years, then maybe Logan didn't have to worry after all.  
  
Or maybe Syl really was going to kill him, regardless of what he knew or how he knew   
it, and *that* is why she didn't bother with any formalities.   
  
Logan swallowed.  
  
"I didn't know you were there," he stated, simply.  
  
Syl laughed as if she found the answer amusing, although she looked thoroughly   
unamused, and rolled her eyes. "You had high-resolution amplifiers at the site where   
you met," she informed Logan dryly, as if the information weren't new to him at all.  
  
Logan blinked. 'High-res…' "I had no idea," he said sincerely.   
  
"Mm-hmm. So, what? Next you're gonna tell me General Lydecker had "no idea" they   
were there either?"  
  
"I don't know what the General had…"  
  
"Because if Lydecker had been the one to know I was there at that roadside, you can bet   
your ass we *wouldn't* be standing here right now," Syl began. "I'd be sitting in a   
nice, cold cage. And I don't know what kind of agreement or whatever you *think* you   
have with the General… But I can promise you, you wouldn't be alive right now if   
Manticore had their way."  
  
Logan frowned. "You talk about Lydecker like his only goal in life is to bring you kids   
in."  
  
Syl blinked at the word "kids", but other than that showed no expression, despite the   
sudden concern she felt. So Logan knew about the others, too?  
  
'Don't be so surprised, stupid. For all you know the guy knows everything.'  
  
"You saying you're sure it isn't?" Syl said aloud.  
  
Logan shook his head. "And you're sure it is? Lydecker left Manticore when you   
were…what? One, two? A toddler."  
  
Syl's eyes narrowed. "Yeah, well, when you dedicate your life to keeping "kids" like   
me in a cage, you kind of create a legacy for yourself." She couldn't remember General   
Lydecker personally, of course. But neither Syl nor any of her siblings could remember   
a time when the man's name didn't hang over their heads like a cloud of doom. Doctor   
Renfro had repeatedly charged the X5s "failings" to "Deck", as she called him. She'd   
told them again and again how the General had left a successful career in the army to   
head up the Manticore project, only to abandon it when the X5s turned out to be   
somewhat less than a success; weak, rebellious. Plagued by seizures. All the guards   
and doctors in Gillette seemed to remember the man and talked about him whenever   
Renfro couldn't hear them. They'd respected him. And Renfro had seemed to envy that   
respect.   
  
Syl was sure that any man who could be respected in a hellhole like Manticore, and   
envied by a monster like Renfro, couldn't be trusted as far as a human could throw him.  
  
Logan's words brought Syl out of her reverie. "I think you'd be surprised by what the   
General's dedicated himself to," he was saying. Logan knew a few files and one   
meeting didn't give him exclusive knowledge of the other man's character, but what he   
did know didn't give him the impression of Lydecker that Syl seemed to have picked up.   
"And he doesn't want anything more to do with Manticore than you do," Logan added.  
  
"Yeah, now," Syl scoffed. "Now that he's been AWOL for about twenty years. But if   
he had a transgenic up his sleeve; something to buy his way off of Manticore's hit   
list…"  
  
Logan had considered that possibility. And he realized that he'd risked a lot on his faith   
in the other man's intelligence. Apparently Syl wasn't willing to do the same.  
  
"Do you really think that would work? You think Lydecker could just turn you over,   
and walk away a free man?"  
  
Syl shrugged one shoulder. "It isn't about what I think," she informed him, guardedly.   
"It all depends on whether or not Deck thinks the same way."  
  
"You must have at least heard about the man when you were a child. You really believe   
he's that stupid?" Logan asked, incredulously.  
  
"He was stupid enough to go AWOL, wasn't he?" Syl pointed out.  
  
"I'm sure he had his reasons," Logan replied, cryptically, causing Syl to roll her eyes yet   
again. "And you shouldn't be so quick to judge." Logan tried using some language the   
soldier in Syl might understand. "He could be an ally, you know? He doesn't have to   
be the enemy." 'And neither do I,' Logan thought. His primary concern was Max. But   
he couldn't help but feel compassion towards Syl and her "siblings", even if their nature   
frightened him. Children, raised like prisoners…hunted like animals. He'd created   
Eyes Only to protect victims like the X5s, even if this particular bunch of victims could   
each take on about ten men without breaking a sweat.   
  
But Syl wasn't following Logan's line of reasoning. She smiled a bitter smile of irony.   
"Yeah…I hear Lydecker used to have a saying he liked to spout about that. 'Once my   
enemy, never my ally."  
  
Logan didn't know exactly what to say to that.  
  
So he moved on to the point he'd been trying to make ever since Syl had, essentially,   
"grabbed" him.  
  
"I wasn't meeting with Lydecker to "sell you out"," Logan said. "I was just collecting   
information."  
  
"Why?"  
  
Logan hesitated.   
  
"For that matter," Syl continued, eyes narrowing. "How? How'd you even find out   
about Manticore in the first place. And Lydecker."  
  
"I have my ways."  
  
Syl snorted. "Yeah. Late-night meetings in parks and old playgrounds." Surprise   
registered on Logan's face, but Syl didn't linger on the observation. "Unless Manticore   
opened up a public recreation program in Seattle, I doubt you found out about the   
project by hanging around those places."   
  
Logan shifted uncomfortably on his feet. And Syl took a step closer, so that they were   
nearly standing nose to nose.  
  
"Of course, there's those nice, new computers you got hooked up in your penthouse.   
But you can't exactly find former secret government officials through your average   
search engine, either."  
  
Logan just stared. He didn't know if Syl knew his identity as Eyes Only, but by her   
comments it was obvious that she knew more about him than he'd thought. She hadn't   
just been spying on him at home…apparently she'd been following him around town, as   
well. He'd considered that, and had beefed up security during informant meetings as a   
necessary precaution. But none of his men had ever detected anyone. He'd   
underestimated how stealthy his cat-burglar-turned-spook really was. And how   
suspicious.  
  
As their eyes locked, Logan realized just how much danger he was in at that moment,   
with Syl standing there, believing him to be the enemy. He supposed he'd sort of   
thought, throughout the entire time they'd spent together, that if he could just get Syl to   
listen to reason, explain that he meant her no harm, then everything would be fine. But   
he'd been naïve. After how she'd grown up, always looking over her shoulder, Syl   
wasn't content with a simple explanation. To her, the fact that Logan even knew about   
Manticore, the fact that there was anything to explain, was reason enough to suspect   
him.   
  
So, suddenly, he changed tracks.  
  
"I think I might know where to find another X5. One you don't know about," Logan   
blurted out.  
  
Syl blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. "What?"  
  
"An X5 who escaped, but not in '09. I came to Wyoming to collect information on that   
chimera. Not you." Logan used a term he read in the file Lydecker had given him,   
trying not to give away Max's name if he didn't have to. Originally, he hadn't wanted   
to mention Max at all. The General's warning about the '09 X5s seeing Max as a threat   
was still fresh on Logan's mind. But if he didn't reach an understanding with Syl fast,   
he was certain the whole issue would be made moot by Syl eliminating *him* as a   
threat. And perhaps honesty really would be the best policy in this situation. If Logan   
could explain about Max, and get Syl to believe him, then hopefully she could pass on   
that explanation to her siblings. Should the need arise. Logan felt that the possibility of   
it doing just that was growing more and more likely. Everything seemed to be spiraling   
out of control.   
  
Logan reached behind him, to where he had folded and tucked his file on the X5s into   
the waistband of his pants. "Look, I can prove it," he told Syl. And he offered the file   
to her. Syl eyed the folder warily, and Logan told himself to remain calm. After all, it   
wasn't really Max's information in there. Just information on who Max could have   
been, had Lydecker and Vertes not saved her. A number; X5 452.   
  
Syl finally took the folder and looked into it. "There's information on all of you in   
there. I almost lost it, too, back at the RV park. I had to wrestle that damned dog to   
keep it all…" Logan was saying this as he watched skepticism, then curiosity and   
surprise travel across Syl's face. But he stopped when she looked up, looking not only   
skeptical, once more, but confused, as well. And not pleased.  
  
"I thought you said you had info on all of us," she said to Logan, closing the file and   
holding it up. "There's nothing in here but some kid's adoption papers and a death   
certificate."   
  
Logan just looked at her. Then he snatched the file before Syl could object.  
  
"Hey!"  
  
"Of course there's…" Logan shuffled through the papers in the folder, twice, his words   
fading away as he did. Then he paled. "Oh, shit…" he mumbled to himself.  
  
Syl stilled, alarmed. "What?"  
  
"Damn it!"  
  
"*What?*"  
  
Logan looked at her. "They must still be back at the park." Syl was certain she wasn't   
hearing correctly. "What?" she asked quietly.   
  
Logan couldn't believe he'd done something so stupid. Those files were what he'd   
come to Wyoming for in the first place. Of course, now that surviving Syl had become   
his primary agenda, his attention had strayed considerably… But still…  
  
"I must have dropped them while I was running from the dog," he admitted. "When…"   
But Syl interrupted him.  
  
"Who all was in that folder?"  
  
"I…"  
  
"Who?" Syl repeated, emphatically. Logan had said "all"; who did that include?  
  
"Uh…you. Someone called 394, 656." Then Logan remembered the boy in the   
photograph. "A guy Lydecker said might be named "Zack". I don't…"  
  
Syl paled now, as well. "Zack?"  
  
Logan didn't like the way she said that name. Or the way she looked at him when she   
did. But he answered anyhow. "Yeah," Logan said.  
  
Syl's hand shot out so fast Logan barely saw it, and then her fingers were wrapping   
around his throat, lifting him slightly. Reflexively, his hands went to the one slightly   
choking him.   
  
"You had information on Zack in that file?" She demanded, a tiny sliver of fear creeping   
up from beneath the anger and accusation Logan saw shining in her blue eyes. Damn.   
And things were just starting to calm down between them…  
  
Syl leaned into Logan and her eyes narrowed. "Was the information updated?" she   
asked.  
  
Logan coughed a little, and tried to shake his head. But it was hard to do so with Syl's   
vice-like grip on his throat. Then, suddenly, she released him.  
  
Syl's hands went to her own temples, as if massaging them. "Shit. Oh, shit…" she was   
mumbling to herself.  
  
While rubbing his throat, Logan tried to reassure her.  
  
"Just calm down," he said. "The files should still be back there…"  
  
"With the dog," Syl reminded him, throwing her arms into the air and gesturing. "And   
the police, who those campers no doubt called after we stole their car!"  
  
"And their ice chest and some clothes…" Logan caught the dangerous look Syl was   
sending him and immediately shut up, not knowing what he'd been going on about in   
the first place. This whole fiasco was giving him a headache.   
  
And it seemed that he wasn't alone. Syl suddenly looked almost…ill.  
  
For some reason, despite the possible physical harm he was inviting upon himself,   
Logan took a step closer to the woman and put a hand on her shoulder. Syl looked up at   
him in surprise.  
  
"What do you suggest we do?" he asked.  
  
Syl just looked at him a moment. And then, regaining her composure, she brushed his   
hand away. "What's there to suggest?" she was saying. "We can't just walk away if…   
No bullshitting me right now. You're serious about there being information on the X5s   
back there?" The look in Syl's eyes said exactly what she would do to Logan if he were   
lying.  
  
Logan nodded. "Unfortunately? Yes."  
  
Syl silently cursed. She took a calming breath. "Okay… Fine. Then we've got to go   
back there."  
  
But Logan stopped her, earning another deadly glare. "Wait. Let me make some calls   
first." Syl looked like she was about to laugh, so Logan went on. "Maybe I can get   
some of my connections to pull some strings. No tricks; I don't want those files to end   
up in the wrong hands any more than you do."  
  
Syl still looked skeptical. So Logan assured her, "You can listen in if you want."  
  
Syl considered the request for a moment. Then she closed her eyes, briefly, and sighed.   
  
"If you fuck up this situation any further…"  
  
Logan shook his head. "I won't. What do you say?" 


	22. Chapter 22

The Story of Max Cale: Chapter 22

by pari

[see chapter one for disclaimers, etc.]

A/N: Yes, this fic is back from the presumed-dead. Let me know what you think about that.

~+[]+~

Peter Giordano was still a cop, a sergeant for the New York City Police Department, when Eyes Only made his first nation-wide hack. It was an otherwise uneventful November evening, and Peter had nothing better to do than watch television - the automobile "accident" he'd had only a couple of weeks before having put him off his feet. Eyes Only was after a crooked corporate defense attorney who'd disappeared and was rumored to be selling secrets about his former clients. 

Peter knew well the danger of telling and keeping secrets. There was more going on behind the scenes in Peter's department, during that last year he walked a beat, than there had been in booking for as long as Peter could remember. And New York City never ran out of perps to book.

It wasn't any surprise to Peter that some smarmy lawyer guy had gone wrong, or that he'd been profiting from his alternative-to-work ethic. Or even that innocent people had _died_ because of him. Innocent people were always dying because of a crooked lawyer, or a crooked doctor, or crooked _cops_. That didn't make everything alright, but Peter had his own wars to wage. His resistance to the ongoing trend towards "might makes right" within the police's ranks had nearly gotten him killed twice by that time, and Peter held no illusions about his being lucky enough to survive a third attempt.

If only Eyes Only had left out the names and faces of those innocent dead he was trying to avenge, Peter's life might have gone on in an entirely different direction. 

But it's harder to stick to your own battles when you're staring at a tv screen with a picture of a family of five plastered across it, than it is when you think of the other people in the world who are suffering as a formless, faceless mass of nobodies. 

Next thing Peter knew, he was standing outside the back of an apartment building in the middle of the night, a few states over from his own, his badge sitting on his captain's desk back in New York. He'd helped Eyes Only bring down the attorney he'd been after (and a few of his associates besides), had given Eyes Only the heads up on some of the shady deals going down in Peter's own department, and had somehow gotten himself a job as the bodyguard to a guy who would one day become the most wanted man in America. 

He didn't realize at the time that the cocky young rich kid standing outside the back of that building with him was, in fact, that very same man - Eyes Only. Voice of the people, defender of the defenseless, et cetera, et cetera. Peter didn't go for long-winded descriptors, fancy titles and catchy headlines. He didn't care what the word on the street was concerning his new boss, the rumors surrounding the man and his capabilities. Peter was used to getting paid to protect. Whether he was protecting every good criticize and worthless piece of scum on a New York street block, equally, or just one man in the middle of Seattle's high-rise district, Peter didn't care. The point was: he was getting paid, he was protecting someone, and the person signing his paychecks wasn't as crooked as the people Peter had once believed cops like him were hired to put away.

Not that there weren't reservations to be had, regardless, once Peter realized that Logan Cale was that person.

Logan was everything shadowy, underground subverts shouldn't be. Charming, bold, attractive, and undeniably well off. Peter was no less loyal to Logan than he'd been to Eyes Only from the very start - if anything, he would become even more so. But he knew, the day he put two and two together and came up with Logan's face being the one hidden behind those trademark text feeds, that that loyalty was going to cause him trouble. Sooner or later.

Turned out, the trouble would start sooner. And never stop.

When Logan told Peter he would be going out of town to meet a contact, and that the contact would take off if Logan didn't show up alone as agreed, and _insisted_ that he _would _show up alone, as agreed, Peter took his suggestion to use the time off as a vacation with a grain of salt, a scowl, and a four letter word to Logan's responding grin. He didn't even bother to leave his apartment or to turn off his pager. He knew Bling would be hanging around Fogle Towers to stay with Max, and that Bling would call Peter if there was any trouble.

Peter was therefore not surprised when Bling did, in fact, call him the very day after Logan left town.

Max was as well acquainted with trouble as her big brother Logan, and Peter well knew it.

Peter was in the middle of a ball game and a Heineken when the call came. He took one glance at the caller id, rolled his eyes, and picked up the phone without wasting time on any niceties.

"What's she done now?" he asked immediately.

It was Bling's terse voice on the other side of the line that made Peter drop his casual attitude and sit up straight in his chair. "Max is gone. Someone took her," Bling was saying at once, ignoring Peter's glib lack of a greeting.

"Are you sure? Maybe she just took off."

Peter could practically see the grim expression on Bling's face as he responded back. "I'm sure. Come to the penthouse. I'll tell you more here." Then Bling hung up. 

Peter swore, hanging up his phone, grabbing his jacket and his piece.

Just as he was about to walk out the door, the phone rang again. Another glance at the caller id told him this call was from...a phone booth with a Wyoming area code?

"Giordano," he answered, a funny feeling in his gut about receiving such a strange call so soon after the one about Max. The voice that answered back surprised him so much he nearly dropped his keys.

"Peter."

"_Logan_?"

'What the hell?'

Logan's message was quick and...well. Very Logan.

"Peter, I'm in Wyoming. We've got a containment problem. I need you to find somebody in the Laramie police department who can tell you what they found at a trailer park about ten miles out of town last night. I may need you to run interference, also, if we get caught going back there. I'll let you know."

"Caught? Going back... Logan, who's we? What..."

"I'll explain later. This is urgent. I can't have those files falling into the wrong hands. And my caffeine addict assassin here hasn't shot anything in a while, so I'm a little wary of keeping her waiting."

From Logan's end of the line, Peter heard someone sputtering and coughing, then the thump of someone pounding on someone else's back, and - finally - the sound of someone getting his hand slapped.

"Ow!" Peter heard Logan exclaim, and pulled his receiver back from his ear a bit.

"Logan..."

"I don't have my cell with me. The Colonel threw it out the window this morning."

"Colonel..."

"I'll have to call you back. And Peter? Keep an eye on you know who. Don't let her in on this. I don't want her to worry."

Before Peter could say anything else, he was hung up on for the second time in fifteen minutes.

He stared at his phone receiver after he'd replaced it, watching it warily as though it would call for his attention again if he turned his back.

Then he finally got his head together and left the apartment.

Sometimes Peter really missed the Bronx.

~+[]+~

A/N: I know this is a short chapter. Just a teaser. Wanted to let y'all know I'm working on this fic again. Reviews would be much appreciated (especially if sent to pari106@hotmail.com . The reviews through FF.net take a while to get to me.)


	23. Chapter 23

The Story of Max Cale: Chapter 23

by pari

[see chapter one for disclaimers, etc.]

A/N: As promised, here is a longer update than last time. Thank you, everyone who's been reviewing and sending me your encouragement :) Let me keep hearing from you, and you'll keep hearing from me.

~+[]+~

Zack had found Krit first.

A little over a year after the escape, he found him living in an abandoned schoolhouse in Colorado. He stayed with him nearly another year after that before moving on to find the others. Zane in Port Arthur, Dem in Pocatello; then Tinga and An and Tate. One by one, Zack had found all but two of his brothers and sisters by the time the youngest of them turned sixteen - he found Ming a year after that; Ben was the only X5 to find Zack before he could be found.

But Zack didn't like to think about Ben much. He thought about the others a lot more than he thought he should, and whenever he did his thoughts always began and ended with Krit. With that feeling of accomplishment - accomplishment and something un-soldier-like that Zack hadn't been able to identify at the time - he'd felt when he'd fulfilled at least one-eighteenth of the mission that was his for having led the escape in '09. 

Not that Zack's interactions with Krit since he'd found him had been all that _accomplished_. Sometimes it was all Zack could do just to convince himself not to turn the little smartass over to Manticore himself. It was the same way with several of the other X5s. But Zack would never do that. He wouldn't trade anything for the knowledge that his family was free and that, although he couldn't see them perhaps as often as they'd like, or as often as Zack would like, he _could_ see them. They could reach him if they were in trouble. He could hear their voices and feel the ghost of what he'd felt that cold day in Colorado.

As he sat in the back of the car belonging to the old couple who'd offered him and his reluctant "fiancée" a lift - with said fiancée's head cradled gently in his lap - Zack's mind raced. 

Was that what had kept him so off-centered where this mystery woman was concerned?

Had he sensed in her, somehow, something he'd only just begun to recognize consciously? Similarities. Similarities between the woman and himself. 

Admittedly, there was a lot about this woman to throw Zack off-center. The way she'd just appeared in his life, without any warning. That way she had of seeming impossibly innocent and vulnerable, and incorrigible, indomitable, all at the same time. Sometimes she looked at Zack as if she'd never seen anything more frightening. Sometimes she looked at him like she didn't want to look away. 

'_What's your name?_'

She'd responded to his inexplicable kisses with a passion that had stunned them both. She'd made _Zack_ feel with a passion that had stunned him. She'd fought him from the moment they'd met...except for in the moments when Zack would have expected her to fight him the most. Throughout that kiss...on the roadside with, presumably, her own kind standing right there beside her, ready to "rescue" her.

Only she hadn't wanted to be rescued.

Or she had. But it was this kind couple that she'd needed rescuing from even worse than the man who had snatched her off a rooftop and tied her to a bed.

Should Zack be feeling what he'd felt that day he'd found Krit? The triumph of finding something, someone, he had come to doubt he would ever see again. One of his own. Not a brother or a sister this time, obviously. All of them were accounted for. But someone else.

Another transgenic?

She didn't act like a transgenic. She sure as hell didn't move like one. 

"Are you sure this is okay?" the man who'd given them a ride - Mark - asked, as they pulled up in front of the motel room Zack had specified, next to the van he'd stolen and driven from Seattle to here. 

Zack refrained from glancing nervously out the car windows, but all of his senses were on alert. No doubt the scene he and his play-act bride-to-be had caused, in the diner and on the highway, would bring cop cars to the vicinity at any moment. They had to get out of the area. Fast.

Zack put on his best good-'ol-boy grin and nodded appreciatively. "We're fine. She just needs to take her pills and get some rest."

"Thanks for your help," Max said from where she lay across Zack's lap, startling him as he hadn't realized she was still awake. Her eyes had been closed and her breathing had been as shallow as if she'd been asleep.

Max's eyes were open now. She gave the couple in the front seat as much of a smile as she could manage.

"Not many people these days would let a couple of strangers into their car. Especially when one of them's sick."

Both Mark and his wife waved the comments away, though their eyes were soft and concerned when they looked at Max.

"You just take care of yourself," the woman said, but she was looking at Zack.

"We will, ma'am. Thanks again."

He took Max gently by the shoulders and helped her sit up. Mark came out of the car to help Zack lift Max to her feet while getting out of the car himself. Zack could feel the small tremors that were even now shuddering through Max's body. He worried that she would seize again before he'd even gotten the van started and out of the motel's parking lot. He made their goodbyes with Mark and his wife quickly, then took his time opening the van's side door.

When the human couple's car was driving away from them at last, Zack opened the van and eased Max inside. He laid her on her back, and tucked one of the bags he'd brought with him to Seattle under her head as a pillow. Max, eyes clenched tightly shut, curled into a ball immediately, teeth chattering. Zack hesitated a moment. Then turned Max's head, lifted her hair, and checked the back of her neck.

No barcode. But that meant little. Zack's own barcode was fairly visible at the moment; he hadn't had the chance to get it removed recently. He wore his hair just long enough to cover where his barcode was supposed to be anyhow. If this woman was a transgenic, she could very well have had her barcode temporarily removed as well.

Zack looked back at Max's face to see her looking at him, vaguely curious even through the disorientation of her seizures.

"Are you okay?" he asked her before she could question his own actions.

Max nodded slowly.

"We have to get out of here."

Zack hesitated again. Then he reached past Max to one of the bags he had dumped in the van behind the passenger's seat. He pulled out a large bottle of pills. He quickly unscrewed the lid and shook three or four large, white pills into the palm of his hand.

Max watched his every move. And her eyes widened in shock - and recognition, Zack noted - when she read the label on the pill bottle in Zack's hand, the look of the pills he held out to her.

"You need these, don't you?"

Zack was offering Max triptophan.

A chill ran up Max's spine that had nothing to do with her seizures.

"How..."

Zack noticed the way Max shrank away from him, the confusion in her eyes. He grabbed her by the wrist and pressed the pills into the palm of her hand before she could get any more upset. Then tucked the bottle they'd come out of, lid lightly screwed shut, nearby.

"Just take them. I want to get us on the road before those sirens get any closer."

Max's expression registered surprise yet again. She'd heard the sirens of cop cars approaching. She just hadn't realized that her captor-cum-haphazard-nurse had heard them as well.

Zack closed Max's fingers around the pills he'd given her and stepped back, reaching for the van's doors.

His voice was as gentle as Max had ever heard it. The expression on his face as he looked at her was unfathomable, but Max could tell - somehow - by the sight of it, that something had suddenly changed here. Something important. Her heart beat even faster than it had been beating before.

"It'll be alright," Zack was saying. Then he closed the van's door and walked around to the other side, climbing into the driver's seat and starting the engine.

Max blinked. Just as she began to shake again, slightly, she shoved the pills she'd been given into her mouth, swallowing quickly and closing her eyes. 

Nothing was alright. Everything felt mixed up. But somehow Zack's words comforted Max as she lay on the floor of the van, gritting her teeth against the vibrations as the van started up and took off.

She slipped back into unconsciousness before the police sirens she'd heard before could get loud enough to cause her to panic.

~+[]+~

The thing about walking a beat in a world where the law gave jack squat about legality and justice - and other such things the middle-class and poor could actually afford before the Pulse - it was a laid back kind of job, if you got yourself placed right. 

And so long as you weren't one of the law officers left in America who actually _cared_ about doing your job _and_ doing the right thing, at the same time, then Laramie, Wyoming was a pretty good place to be. It wasn't the end of the world, but it wasn't exactly a hub of civilized activity. There weren't a lot of big names or big spenders in Laramie. In other words, there weren't a lot of people there who the law would spit on a fire for.

There was just about four thousand residents, the remains of a once bustling business district, a scattering of trailer parks and mobile home lots, a couple of relatively decent residential areas, and the Albany County Sheriff's Department. 

In all, the ACSD got about fifty calls per day.

They might have gotten more, but their dispatcher only worked the hours between nine in the morning and six o'clock at night, so the work load for the deputies in Laramie was somewhat lax as compared to that in some other provinces. 

There were a lot of Sheriff's Departments across the nation like the one in Laramie. And a lot under the command of men and women much like Laramie's Sheriff Edmund Dodd.

It was "Doddy", however, who got the word - that night, just as he was about to hang up his keys for the day and go home - that there'd been a "disturbance" at the Boethe Trailer Park on the outside of town, a couple of hours before.

This was not news. Much of what constituted everyday life in Post-Pulse America could be considered a _disturbance_. But it was a slow night. The disturbance in question involved theft. If nothing else, Doddy could get the local CRA off his back by having his men go out and appear to help someone. And any contraband they happened to acquire would be fair game, so long as the "citizens" who'd filed the police report got back _most_ of what they'd reported stolen. 

"McDougal, Leto." Doddy leaned around the partition separating his desk from the others in the main office, and called out to a couple of deputies there with him. One was sitting at his desk reading a magazine; the other was standing by the water cooler.

"We got a 10-103 at Boethe's," he told them.

The deputy sitting at his desk snorted, turning a page. "Hmm. So I take it the gyps wish they'd paid their land taxes now, don't they?"

Doddy ignored the comment, crossing his arms over his chest. "I want you boys to go check it out."

The deputy by the water cooler paused with his paper cup halfway to his lips.

"You're kidding."

Doddy smiled. "It's our civic duty, right? So get out there and be civic."

~+[]+~

Logan had never pretended to understand women. 

He hadn't understood his first girlfriend, who - at sixteen - had insisted he'd ruined her life by showing up at Coco Aiguille's cotillion wearing a traditional black tux (as opposed to the unpleasant-looking ensemble she'd asked him to don). He hadn't understood his first fiancée, Daphne, who had broken off their long engagement without having given him any reason at all. And he hadn't understood his _second_ fiancée, Valerie...

Actually, Logan just hadn't understood Valerie.

And he misunderstood Max on a regular basis, despite all his efforts to the contrary. So Logan had no illusions where his ability to glean insight into the female mind was concerned. He did, however, think he understood _people_. Particularly angry people, who were generally rather predictable, provided they didn't have a peculiar method of venting anger, such as the way Valerie had always vented her anger at Logan. By setting fire to various items in his possession on top of the hood of his car.

But most importantly, Logan understood that there were rules to be followed when _dealing_ with angry people.

Rule Number One: No two angry people are necessarily the same.

Logan knew that he himself tended to withdraw when he was really angry. He bottled all his darker emotions, and didn't speak of them unless he absolutely had to. His friend Bling - who Logan had hired as Max's physical therapist after the shootout with Sonrisa's men - bottled _nothing_. If Bling was angry with someone, he told them so in that Zen-like, this-is-for-your-own-good way of his. 

Logan's bodyguard, Peter, never _got_ angry. Not as far as Logan had ever seen. Which was, altogether, a good thing, as Peter's natural disposition was as close to angry as anyone needed to get.

Rule Number Two: Angry people do _not_ make for good company.

Logan had learned this rule during his second semester at Yale. He'd been rooming with a law student he, to this day, kept in touch with as much as possible. Ames had been an observative, "still waters" type of guy who's dry humor and quiet intensity had been a perfect match for Logan's then quirky charm and playboy exuberance. He and Logan had become quick friends, but that hadn't kept Logan from clearing out anytime Ames had gotten himself into a lather over something. Ames's still waters did indeed run deep, and where they ended Ames's fists began. When Ames got angry he went and found the biggest stranger in the immediate area and tried to knock his teeth out. Then spent the rest of the night defending his life. And quite frankly, considering Logan's taste in women (i.e. Valerie), he hadn't needed any more confrontation in his life at that time than he'd already had.

Rule Number Three: Angry women don't follow rules.

At least, none of the women Logan had ever known ever did.

Sure, Daphne had had a normal enough way of dealing with her emotions. When she was angry at Logan she pouted until he asked her what was wrong, then exploded because he didn't know. Logan's friend Asha laughed off her anger with a snarky comment and the occasional offensive gesture. 

But Valerie? Decidedly not normal. And Max? 

Max was the least predictable person Logan had ever known, particularly when she was angry. As a child, she'd been manageable enough, but as an adult...

Max was moody. As much as Logan loved her, he couldn't deny that. Sometimes when Max got angry with him, she said so and they worked things out. Sometimes she waited for weeks before pouring all of Logan's wine down the kitchen drain and refilling the bottles with vinegar or bubble bath. Sometimes she simply sulked.

Sometimes Max went behind Logan's back, got in on missions he wanted her out of, and got herself shot in the process...

Logan didn't know anything about Syl, really. Catching her breaking into his apartment once, catching glimpses of her on an adjacent rooftop now and then, browsing through Lydecker's files... None of that had told him anything. They didn't tell him if Syl ever sulked, or if she liked to set things on fire (though Logan wouldn't be surprised if she did). They didn't say whether or not she'd ever done anything stupid just out of pure, human emotion alone. If she'd had a brother, would she have put herself in the crossfire just to save him? And, simultaneously, to spite him?

Logan had already seen how comfortable Syl was with brawling. And the one time he'd seen her pout, it had been very pretty. But he doubted Syl would bother with anything but a blank face if she was really angry.

So did that make her predictable or _un_predictable? Syl was _really_ angry now. Logan didn't have to know her well to know that. Her face was an emotionless mask as they made their way back to the trailer park they'd left earlier, abandoning their stolen car in the bushes a couple of miles down the road and walking the rest of the way. 

But she wasn't fighting with him. She was absolutely silent. And there wasn't a flame in sight (although there was a lot of ice to be found in her gaze). 

Her unnaturally cold and collected demeanor was starting to _get_ to Logan. And his emotions were in enough of a mess as they were. Logan was _disgusted_ with himself over having lost those files, confused as to how something like that could possibly have happened to _him_. He felt guilty for having made a mistake that could put Syl and the other X5s in jeopardy of exposure. 

And, again, Logan was _confused._ He'd only just met this woman. And in the last twenty-four hours or so he'd had a gun pointed at him by her, he'd had her sitting in his lap (albeit reluctantly), he'd claimed that she was his wife in front of a crowd of strangers, he'd _kissed_ her (and he'd _liked _it), he'd gotten bit by a dog and had stolen root beer for her. And now he'd made (almost) the stupidest blunder of his life, and the foremost thought on his mind was that he was _disappointed_ because he'd betrayed Syl's trust in him.

Only she'd never trusted him, had she? That was why they'd been on this little cross-country trip of theirs with her gun shoved into Logan's back almost the entire way. That was why she'd tried to drug him to sleep back at that bar they'd stopped at so she could make a phone call, of all things.

Except, Syl had let him handle that situation, hadn't she? She'd let Logan do the talking when that crowd had gathered around the losers she'd beaten up. She _hadn't_ shot him after he'd kissed her. She'd kissed him back. And she hadn't shot him since.

Although Logan was almost to the point of wishing she would by the time they'd reached the gas station halfway between the place where they'd ditched that stolen car and the trailer park they were headed for. He'd even tried to rile her up by making some comments about assassins and trigger fingers and colonels during his brief conversation with Peter, to no avail.

Logan's only hope was that they would get back to the trailer park where he'd lost his files, only to find his half-eaten coat and the remains of what Lydecker had given him lying in the mud. He'd spend the rest of his night digging through that mud, avoiding any residents that had risen during the commotion earlier and - of course - that damned dog that had tried to eat him the first time around. He'd go back to explaining his relative innocence to Syl and trying to salvage what he could of the decision she seemed to have made before to not kill him straight away...

As they neared the trailer park, Syl cursed and pulled Logan back behind a tree with her. He looked around the side of the trunk and his hopes sunk. A cop car was pulling into the park, and a number of the residents within were waiting outside their trailers.

Syl looked at Logan with an accusative glare.

Logan blinked, then shrugged sheepishly. What more could he do? He was so screwed.

Syl rolled her eyes and motioned for him to follow her around the tree and towards the back of the park.

[tbc]

A/N: Okay. It could have been a longer, "longer" update :p But I'm working on the next part already. What did y'all think of this one? You don't think the mention of the X5s I made up is lame, do you? I don't like inventing characters, as a rule. But I didn't want to ignore the X5s either. I said that Zack helped 18 of them escape, so I figured I'd better account for some of those eighteen before I get any deeper into this story. Could be the X5s will be making an appearance later on (insert smiley whistling and looking carefully innocent right here ). 

A/N2: Oh, and there's a little problem with the way I began this story initially. For some reason, I started this as a L/M/Z fic. Remember? In Chapter One Logan is pining for Max, and in Chapter 11 he mentions that he's in love with her. I can not, for the life of me, remember why I wanted to do that. I'm thinking of editing those chapters and allowing Logan and Max's relationship to be brother/sister on both sides, as I probably should have from the beginning. Is there anyone who has a problem with that? Let me know. 


End file.
